Obsession
by Bastila481
Summary: When a stalker begins to focus on Casey, it's up to Olivia and the rest of the squad to find the perp before they lose another ADA. Repost of old story due to requests. CO femslash.
1. Chapter 1

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf.

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters.

**Author's Notes**: Well, as you all know, this is a repost of an old story, but I've had quite a few requests to put them back up . . . so here it is. I've also compiled some of the chapters to make it easier to post.

**Chapter 1 **

I sit in my darkened apartment, illuminated only by the cheap scented candle on the coffee table, and contemplate my existence. It sounds ridiculous really. Contemplating your existence? What does that really mean? I've never been sure, but it sounds good. The faint sounds of Sarah McLachlan drift from my cd player. Her soft voice and tortured prose only serve to depress me more. If there were a soundtrack for suicide, surely this would be it. I sigh as I take another drink of coffee that has long since gone cold. It's Friday night, I really should have something better to do. But I don't, so I sit and wallow in my self-pity.

I lost today. It wasn't the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last, but I still feel like I should have won. Alex Cabot would have pulled some obscure case precedent out of her ass and saved the day. I'm not Alex, so I just sat there dumbfounded as the case exploded in my face. I think Olivia believes I should of won too. I saw a flash of disappointment in those liquid brown eyes before she recovered and told me that it wasn't my fault. She threw her arm around my shoulders as we walked from the court room and gave me one of those blinding Benson smiles. I loathe myself for disappointing her. No one else's opinion matters quite as much as hers.

I get up to refill my mug and glance at the bottle of Bailey's Irish Creme sitting on my counter. I'm tempted, but that's the last thing I need right now. Returning to my previous spot with my newly warmed coffee I glance at the clock. It's only eight o'clock. Time flies when you're having fun.

My cell phone rings from its position on my coffee table. I glare at it. How dare it interrupt my pity party. I consider not answering it, but then I think that it may be work related, so I relent. I glance at the number and feel an instant surge of excitement, it's Olivia. Taking a breath, I open the phone.

"Hello?"

"_Hey Casey, how are you?"_

I feel myself smile at the concerned tone of her voice.

"Depressed and wallowing in self-pity, you?"

Olivia's laugh comes across the line and I melt into a puddle of goo.

"_A few drinks away from not caring. Wanna join me?"_

"Just name the place."

"_I'm at O'Malley's. I'll be waiting."_

I close the cell phone and look down at my faded jeans and white button up shirt. I suppose they will do. They will have to, I don't feel much like changing. My mood has improved greatly in the last five minutes and I find my self marveling at Olivia's ability to affect me. No one, man or woman, has ever been able to do that quite like her. I know I should take the time to figure out what that means, but I'm afraid. If I admit it, then it will be real and I know I couldn't take the rejection that would inevitably follow. So I make myself believe that I'm not falling in love with Olivia Benson. Some days I almost believe it.

Carrying my coffee to the small kitchen, I methodically go through the motions of washing the mug and placing it on the rack to dry. I turn while drying my hands and stare at the half empty coffee pot for a beat. After a moment of indecision, I sigh and wash that too. My almost obsessive neatness has been the source of many jokes throughout my life. Most people think that it's a product of being a army brat, growing up with an obsessively neat and very military father. It's really not about that. I find the almost military order of my apartment comforting in some strange way. Perhaps it's my way of balancing the chaotic clamber of my mind.

On my way out, I pause at the small coat closet to grab my favorite leather jacket. Sliding my arms into the well worn garment, I inhale the rich scent of the leather. There really is no smell quite like leather. Straitening my collar and running my hands through my hair, I stop to stare at myself in the mirror hanging beside my door. Not too bad Novak, a little on the pasty side but overall . . . not too bad. Giving my reflection a final smile, I exit the apartment and make my way down to the street below. I spot an empty cab sitting a few car lengths away. Maybe my day is improving after all.

Thirty minutes later I find myself standing in front of O'Malley's after a harrowing cab ride with a non-English speaking cabby named Ravi. One day, I swear I'm going to buy a car. Pulling the coat tighter around my body in an effort to block out the cool, damp fall air I approach the well lit pub. The sounds of laughter and music envelop me as I open the door and I can't stop the smile that forms on my face. O'Malley's is a traditional Irish pub in every way, from the dark wood bars to the Irish flags and soccer posters decorating the walls. I scan the small room and find you sitting at the bar sipping a tall glass of beer.

My breath hitches as I am once again floored by your beauty. You sit there so unaware of the stares of lust aimed your way. In my mind, that makes you so much more beautiful. You have absolutely no idea that when you walk into a room, all eyes are on you. I see the bartender tap the bar in front of you and then point my way. Upon spotting me, you let loose a smile that threatens to return me to the state of goo from earlier. Returning your smile I make my way to the bar and take up residence on the empty stool beside you.

"Drinking all alone detective?"

"Not anymore."

The bartender makes his way back to us and asks for my drink order. I really don't like beer, not for lack of trying mind you. I just can't develop a taste for the bitter liquid. I order an Irish Coffee and turn back to face you.

"I didn't know you drank Olivia."

I watch you smile self-consciously as a hint of something much darker and deeper flashes in your eyes.

"I don't . . . not much anyway." You fidget uncomfortably.

I take the hint and change the subject seamlessly as the bartender sits a steaming cup of sugary alcoholic goodness in front of me. Smiling my thanks, I turn to an easier subject . . . for you at least.

"Tough day in court. I really didn't think Judge Terhune would throw out the murder weapon."

Relief floods your eyes as the subject of your past is abandoned. The confident NYPD Detective persona clicks into place like a well worn suit of armor.

"None of us did, Casey. Uniforms screwed up, simple as that. Terhune's always been tough on search and seizure issues." You take another sip of beer.

"I know. I still think that there was something I missed, something I should have done."

You roll your eyes at me. Not in a bad way. It was more like the way you would roll your eyes at a child that you've told the same thing over and over. I can't help but feel a little hurt even though I know you don't mean anything by it.

"Case, there was nothing _anyone_ could have done. There are just some mistakes in procedure that can't be overlooked. It's a tragedy for the victim's family and it makes me physically sick to know that the bastard is a free man tonight . . . but you can't win them all."

I take a deep breath and pick up my coffee. Letting the hot liquid slide down my throat I use the time to formulate a response.

"It doesn't make it any easier to accept." There, that's a nice safe answer.

"No . . . no, it doesn't counselor," you say as you lift your glass once more.

An awkward moment of silence falls between us as we both occupy ourselves with our drinks. I hear you take a breath, as if to speak, and I turn to look at you. Whatever you were going to say, you stop yourself and return your attention to the almost empty beer. My curiosity gets the best of me, as usual.

"What were you going to say?" I look at you expectantly.

"I was just going to ask what your story was. I realized today that I really don't know that much about you."

I feel a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness. It excites me that you want to know, but at the same time a part of me thinks that you're just being polite.

"Well, there's not a lot to tell. My dad was in the army. I was born on an army base in Germany, but we moved around a lot. When I graduated I got a full softball scholarship to Harvard. From there, I went on to Harvard law and then came straight to New York."

"Wow, never pictured you as an army brat Novak," you say, your eyes sparkling. I'm not sure if it's from genuine amusement or alcohol consumption.

"Yeah well, trust me, it's not as exciting as you might think." In fact it sucked. I learned very quickly not to try and make friends. It only took being devastated a couple of times when I had to leave my friends before I stopped trying. From that point on my only priorities were softball and academics . . . in that order.

"What rank is your dad?"

"Oh, he's retired now. But, um, he was a one star."

I laugh as you choke on your beer and turn to stare at me with wide eyes.

"One star? As in one star _general_?"

"Yeah."

Your trademark wicked grin replaces the look of shock. Uh oh, here it comes.

"I always wondered why you were so bossy Casey," you say before bursting into laughter.

Your laugh is so infectious I can't even work up enough annoyance to be offended.

"What can I say? Must be in the genes."

We lapse into easy conversation about work and current events for the next hour or so. Both of us had switched to plain coffee after a couple of drinks. It wouldn't do for an ADA and a respected detective to get arrested for being drunk in public.

Your cell phone rings and I notice your frown as you see the number. Must be work.

"It's Elliot. I'll be right back okay?"

"No problem." As I watch you exit the bar, I notice a patron staring at your retreating backside. A flare of protectiveness comes out of nowhere and I glare at the drunken man icily. It must have done the trick because he held his hands up in surrender and went back to his whiskey. I swear I hear the term 'dyke' float my way, but I could be imagining it.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and my heart rate triples. Not in fear, I knew it was you. I would recognize your perfume anywhere. The apologetic look on your face tells me what the call was before you even speak.

"They found a body in Tribeca. Looks like she was raped. Elliot and I caught the case, I have to go."

Disappointment floods in and I struggle to keep my face neutral.

"Sure, no problem. Work calls, you gotta go."

"Why don't you ride with me?"

I nearly fall off my bar stool in shock. Olivia Benson is actually voluntarily inviting me to a crime scene. You hate it when I show up at the crime scenes. I'm beginning to think that somehow Olivia's been kidnapped and replaced with a pod person.

"Um yeah . . . okay. I can do that." I'm impressed at how normal my voice sounds.

After paying our tabs, I follow you out onto the street. A light rain had started to fall while we were inside. I look around for a cab, but there are none to be seen.

"Did you call a cab?"

"Don't need one. Here comes our ride." You point to the marked patrol car approaching our position. It pulls to the curb and you open the back door before looking to me.

"Your ride ADA Novak." I grin at you before sliding into the dingy back seat of the cruiser.

"Gee, thanks Liv."

You get in and the uniformed officer behind the wheel flips the lights and siren on before pulling out into traffic.

_Watching you from a darkened corner of the bar I fight to keep my anger in check. Why are you talking to that slut? You belong to me, yet here you are whoring around yet again. You'll soon find the gift I left for you. Maybe then you'll learn to behave. I'd hate to have to punish you, but I will if you leave me no other choice. I don't want to hurt you, I really don't. I hate to see you hurt. Sooner or later, you will realize that we belong together. Hopefully it will be sooner . . . for your sake._

**

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**Chapter 2**

Tribeca is mostly a neighborhood of wealthy young professionals and trendy Hollywood transplants. Overpriced lofts and designer shops predominate here. I once looked at a loft not far from here and loved it. Then they told me the price and I decided that I valued eating much more than having a loft with exposed brick and a skylight. Imagine that. If there's one thing that being intimately involved with the NYPD teaches you, it's that crime touches everything and everyone. Murderers and rapists rarely look at your bank account before they decide to target you.

The crime scene is tucked into an alley between two rather posh buildings on Franklin St. The light rain has subsided and now an almost imperceptible mist falls from the sky. As we walk into the alley I see the victim laying on her stomach, head turned towards the back of the alley, and hatred surges through my chest. I will never understand what motivates someone to take another's life in cold blood. That's why I know I could never be a criminal defense attorney. In my mind there are no excuses that even come close to being good enough.

Elliot spots us from his position by the body and gives me a strange look before starting our way.

"What have we got?" I am slightly startled by your abrupt speech. You were silent for most of the trip here.

Elliot flips open his notepad and flips through the worn, damp pages.

"Female vic, no ID, strangled. Pretty sure she was raped, but we'll have to wait on the kit to be positive."

"Get any trace evidence off the body?" You pull on latex gloves that seem to have appeared from nowhere.

"Nada. Rain took care of that," Elliot said, his voice thick with disgust. He turns to pin me with a questioning gaze as you wander off towards the body.

"What the hell are you doing here Casey?"

The blunt question takes me by surprise and I stand staring at the man, my mouth opening and closing in a fish-like gesture that must be hilarious to watch. Fighting the annoyance that threatens to spill forth into any one of a string of acid comments that come to mind, I take the time to construct a more diplomatic response.

"I was out with Olivia, I'm not here to step on your toes Detective Stabler."

His face softens as he catches my deliberate use of his title. I really thought we were over all of this 'my space, your space' crap, I guess I was wrong.

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been a long night," Elliot looks down at the ground as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

My annoyance evaporates and I can't help but think that he resembles a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"It's okay, Elliot. You're forgiven." I give him a genuine smile as we turn to walk towards Olivia and the vic.

As I get closer to the body a disturbing since of familiarity strikes me square in the chest. I can't really place it, I just feel like I know this woman. Ignoring the strange looks from the police, I push myself to walk closer. The women's clothing is soaked from the evening's rain and her skirt has been pushed up around her waist. The irrational urge to cover her up, protect what's left of her modesty, surges through my mind. Ignoring it I push myself to walk closer. I get my first look at her face and my world implodes. I know her.

You must have noticed something because the next thing I know you're by my side asking me what's wrong.

"I know her Olivia. Oh God, I know her." I bring my hands to my face in an effort to stifle the tears that threaten to spill at any moment.

I barely register the look that passes between you and your partner before I allow you to lead me out of the alley and away from her body. It's not until you have me tucked into the front seat of Elliot's unmarked car that you speak again.

"Who is she Casey?"

You crouch in front of me and take my hands. I wish I could tell you how comforting such a simple touch from you is.

"Her name is . . . was . . . Elli Richter. She used to be an ad exec at a firm downtown, Lawson Associates I think."

"I'm going to take you home okay? Just let me go tell Elliot."

Your voice is soft and even, the voice you use to talk to victims and family members. I hate that you are talking to me in that tone but I force myself to offer you a small smile. You reciprocate with a smile of your own before you leave to find Elliot.

It shames me to admit that part of the reason I'm upset is purely selfish. There are going to be questions about my involvement with Elli. If I tell you how I know her, then I have to out myself and that is not a prospect that I find attractive. The scenario plays out in my mind again and again. It terrifies me that you will recoil in disgust like my sister. I haven't spoken to her in five years, not since the day I told her I was gay. I can't lose you like that. I try to ignore you when you slide behind the wheel a few moments later. Maybe you won't ask, please God don't ask.

"How did you know her?" Shit.

"Promise me that this will stay between us?" I don't look at you. Instead, I stare steadily out the passenger window as you pull away from the scene.

"Casey, you know I can't promise that but I'll try okay? That's the best I can do."

I continue to stare out the window, terrified of facing you.

"We dated," I say, my voice soft and distant. Mentally I prepare myself to receive the backlash I was sure would come. Barely reacting, you just keep driving, concentrating on weaving in and out of Friday night traffic. I look at your face, searching it for any trace of shock or disgust. There is none.

"What? Did you expect me to scream girlishly and run away?" You look at me, amusement playing in your eyes.

"Well . . . sort of." I have the good sense to look chagrined.

"Casey, we're friends. Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy." Your smile is barely visible in the dim light.

Friends? Is that all we are Olivia? I want so much more from you. Looking at my lap to hide the tears that once again threaten to spill from my eyes, I try to force myself to believe that I can be happy as your friend. A single tear escapes my closed eyes and I wipe it away.

"How long did you date?" I feel like you're interviewing me.

"Um, a couple of months. It wasn't anything serious," I say as I drag my hands through my damp hair.

"Why did you think I would react badly to you dating a woman?" You gaze at me steadily, eyes alert and curious. I resist the urge to tell you to watch the road.

"My sister hasn't spoken to me since I told her five years ago." The tears flow freely now.

I've spent the last five years trying to tell myself that I don't care. More people than I can count have told me that it's her loss. Even my mother and father, who are strangely accepting of my lifestyle. But, in the end, it doesn't matter how many people try to comfort me. I still feel her loss like a gaping hole that will never be filled. You never really get over rejection from a family member, especially one as close as a sister. I suppose it has made me a bit gun shy.

"I'm sorry Casey," you say as you lay your hand on my knee in a reassuring gesture.

I give you a small smile and lie through my teeth, "it's okay."

"Obviously it's not or you wouldn't be crying." Damn you for being so perceptive Olivia Benson.

"It's still a difficult subject," I say as I self-consciously wipe away the wetness that decorates my cheeks.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

"I know."

I think you sense my desire for silence because you don't say anything else for the rest of the trip to my apartment. In the silence my thoughts turn to Elli. I really wish I hadn't seen her like that. I would much rather remember the vibrant blond haired, blue eyed beauty that I knew. Instead, I will forever be tormented with the image of what she looked like in death. Yet another image to add to my directory of nightmares.

My thoughts are interrupted as you maneuver the car into a tight parking spot in front of my building. Putting the car in park, you turn to look at me. I get the uneasy feeling that you're studying me. Your eyes are probing and I feel like running from the car to escape your scrutiny.

"Do you want me to come up for a while?"

You have no idea how much I want that. But your mixed signals are killing me and I don't think I can deal with much more tonight. I smile at you to let you know that I'm alright. I'm fairly sure that you're not convinced.

"It's okay Olivia, go home and get some rest," I say as I open the door and extricate myself from what has become an uncomfortable situation.

"You sure?" You're eyes are searching my face again.

"Yes, go home Liv." Keeping the turmoil I feel off of my face is a constant struggle.

"I'll see you soon Casey. Call me if you need anything." For a split second I think I see disappointment flash in your eyes. I'm sure it's just wishful thinking.

"I will. Thanks Olivia."

I shut the car door and start off towards my building. As Jacob, my building's elderly doorman, opens the door I glance back to see you still sitting at the curb watching me. Ever the protector aren't you Olivia?

"Good evening Ms. Novak," Jacob greets, his gray eyes sparkling in kindness.

I can't help but smile at the man. His perpetual good mood is infectious.

"Hi Jacob."

He takes in my rumpled appearance and his face takes on a look of polite concern.

"Rough night," he asks.

"Aren't they all?" I smile sadly at him.

Looking out the door, I notice that you are gone. You'd made sure I was tucked safe and sound in my building before you left. Regret floods in as I remember that you could be walking up with me right now. If only I'd said yes.

I bid goodnight to Jacob before starting off towards the stairs that will lead to my fourth floor apartment. Fatigue sets in and I crave the warmth of my king sized bed. Despite the fatigue, I know that it will be a long time before sleep comes tonight.

**

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**Chapter 3**

_Crack!_

The impact of the softball hitting the bat reverberates through my arms. Without thinking about it I readjust my stance and face the machine, awaiting the next ball.

_Crack!_

My shoulders already burn from my time in the cages but I'm beyond caring today. Today I just want to let go and lose myself in the mindless action.

As I suspected, sleep did not come easily last night. I lay in my bed tossing and turning and trying every trick I'd ever heard of to fall asleep. None of them worked. My mind raced, images of Elli fresh in my memory. Nights like those I wish I had an internal on/off switch for my brain. What sweet release it would be to cease my mind's sometimes frantic pace, if only for a while.

_Crack!_

This is the closest I've ever come to that peace, here in the cages. I gave up on sleep at about 4 AM this morning. When the cages opened at 7, I was the first one standing in line. Now two hours later, I'm still here, my arm muscles close to muscle failure and my mind nowhere near that peace I seek.

"Nice form, little short on the follow through though."

I turn towards the voice with an acid retort on the tip of my tongue, but when I see the owner of the voice the sarcastic response dies away in an instant. I stand facing a person I haven't seen since college. My ex-fiancé smiles at the shock evident on my face.

"Long time, no see Casey."

"Stephen? I thought you, I mean . . . how have you been?" I know it sounds stupid as it leaves my mouth but I can honestly think of nothing better to say. Stephen Murphy was the one person I never thought I'd see again. Yet, here he stands before me, same spiked blonde hair and boyish good looks that I remember.

"Oh you mean since I went crazy in college and my fiance left me to fend for myself?"

The hurt and anger conveyed in that statement strikes me like a punch and I fight to keep myself from backing away.

"Stephen, I don't know what to say. I tried to help you." I tighten my grip on the bat in my hand and send up a silent prayer of thanks to whom ever's listening for the thin metal fence between us.

"I know you did, that's not why I'm here Red." His old nickname for me brings up happier memories from before he got sick.

I never loved Stephen like a fiance should, he was my last ditch effort at heterosexuality, but I did love him in my own way. Then, during our senior year, he started to change. My Stephen disappeared and a unpredictable and scary stranger took his place. The erratic behavior continued deteriorating and finally, I'd had enough. I believed I couldn't help someone who didn't want it. Now standing here facing this man I'd given up on, I wonder if I made the right decision.

"Then why are you here," I ask warily, not sure I want an answer. Honestly, I have enough complications in my life right now.

"I wanted to tell you that I was on medication, two years now, and mend some fences so to speak," he says as he removes the dark sunglasses covering his gray eyes.

I'm not sure what he wants from me or why he's come back. The confusion must have been evident on my face.

"I'm not here to pick up where we left off Casey, I know you never loved me like that."

Confusion is replaced with shock as I openly gape at him.

"You knew?" I'm quickly leaving emotional shock and approaching medical shock as my brain tries to process the information overload of the last two days. I want my nice, quiet, semi-normal life back.

He laughs, a deep baritone sound that I find completely inappropriate for the moment. I shoot him a look of annoyance. This is not funny.

"Everyone knew Casey, I mean come on . . . softball and straight just don't go together," he says, still chuckling.

My annoyance triples at the cliched belief that all women who play softball are lesbians. Okay, so it just happens to be true in my case, but not always.

"Circumstantial evidence, Stephen."

He rolls his eyes at me in an endearingly familiar fashion.

"Case, I just knew okay? Give me some credit, we did sleep together, I think I can tell the difference."

I soften a bit, consciously beating down the defense mechanisms that are so prevalent when I feel uncomfortable.

"Then why did you stay with me?"

"Because I loved you." He smiles as if that explains everything. I want to ask more questions, but I stop myself. I know that I will end up questioning him in the same rapid-fire manor I cross examine a witness and he doesn't deserve that. Instead I steer away from the subject to a less volatile one.

"How did you find me?"

"Your doorman Jacob is very easily persuaded, he told me you'd be here."

I make a mental note to talk to Jacob about that as I finally exit the cage.

"That doesn't explain how you knew where I lived," I say as I place my helmet and bat in my gym bag.

"Casey, you're registered with the Harvard Alumni . . . address and all." He smirks at me a bit condescendingly.

Damn, forgot about that. Guess I need to change that. Making yet another mental note, I look down in an attempt to hide the redness that has spread across my cheeks.

"You should fix that, could be dangerous for a woman in your position."

"I'll be fine, Stephen," I say offhandedly. I am not in the mood to be lectured by someone who just walked back into my life 30 minutes ago.

He crouches down next to me and forces me to look at him.

"You almost weren't. I saw it in the paper when that bastard attacked you."

A million emotions rage in my mind and I'm sure each and every one of them flash across my face. I still can't remember what happened that night, the doctors say I probably never will. All I know is that I woke up with a concussion, three broken ribs, and a fractured hip. For the first few months I had nightmares, disjointed images and sensations that changed each time. Those are gone now, all that remains is the anger.

"Hey look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up what's obviously a difficult subject."

"Yeah it is and I don't really want to talk about it," I say, pushing the unpleasant emotions back into the locked box in my mind where they belong. An awkward silence falls between us as we stand up.

"Do you want to go grab some coffee?"

At first, I'm hesitant to accept his offer. I'm still not sure I buy the 'I just want to be friends' speech.

"Please Casey," he says, giving me the same puppy dog eyes he used on me in college. Never could resist those.

"Okay, okay. I'll go," I say as I roll my eyes at him in mock annoyance. I pick up my bag and return his smile with one of my own.

As we begin to walk away he turns to me with a serious look and says, "I've just got one question for you Red."

I raise an eyebrow and look at him expectantly awaiting his question.

"What in the hell did you do to your hair?"

I playfully punch his shoulder as my other hand goes to my sweat-dampened blonde hair. I've been meaning to get an appointment to have my hair returned to its previous state of red, but I've just been too busy with work lately. I'm still not sure why I bleached my hair this hideous shade of blonde. It was one of those spur of the moment decisions that you regret almost immediately.

"I wanted something different I suppose." I turn to look at his still smiling face and in that moment I decide that Stephen coming back into my life is a good thing. We were friends once, before we were lovers, before he got sick. I know we can be friends again and lets be honest, you can never have too many friends.

Several hours later I stand in front of my apartment door searching my gym bag for my keys. My coffee date with Stephen went wonderful and for the first time in a couple of days I find myself in a good mood. We spent hours catching up and quickly fell back into a comfortable rhythm of friendship so familiar to both of us. I even told him about Olivia. Of course, he proceeded to tell me that I needed to be honest with her and tell her about my feelings. I steadfastly refused and he simply smiled enigmatically, indicating that the discussion was not over by a long shot. I came away from the whole thing with a lunch date for next week and a reconnection with an old friend that I've dearly missed. I just didn't realize how much until now.

Finally locating my keys, I unlock the door and head into my apartment. Locking the door securely behind me, I toss my gym bag in the coat closet and grab a bottle of water on my way to my bedroom. I twist off the cap and take a long drink of water before setting it on the bedside table.

I can't help but smile as I flip through my CD case looking for something to listen too. Finally deciding on The Rolling Stones Greatest Hits, I put it into the stereo and turn the volume up. As the first strains of 'Sympathy For the Devil' roll from the expensive surround sound system I close my eyes and concentrate on the gritty sound of Mick Jagger's voice. This stereo system cost me a fortune, but it was worth it. A girl's gotta have some fun.

Dancing, something I only do at home alone, I strip my clothes off and toss them in the dirty clothes hamper before heading to the bathroom to start my shower. I turn on the tap, adjusting the water to just this side of boiling before stepping in.

Under the pulsating heat my mind turns again to Olivia. Perhaps Stephen is right. Maybe I should tell her how I feel. The rewards could be great if she feels the same way. But if not, our working relationship will be ruined, not to mention our personal friendship. It's a gamble and I've never been much of a gambler. I like sure things, not maybes.

Arguing with myself about Olivia for the next twenty minutes is going to do me absolutely no good. There is no simple solution to this. I'm falling in love with a woman that I'm not even sure is gay. I'm sure a therapist would have something to say about that. Probably something about falling for unattainable people, that way I know I won't get hurt. Because when it comes down to it Olivia Benson, you're pretty damn unattainable.

Leaning my head back I allow the rapidly cooling water to cascade over my face. Wiping my eyes, I lean down and grab the shower gel and wash my body quickly. By the time I'm finished shampooing my hair the shower has gone cold and I step out onto the bathroom rug shivering. Damn small water heaters. I wrap my oversized bath towel around myself in an effort to stop the chills racking my body.

After a few minutes, they subside and I slip into my silk robe. The black form-fitting robe falls just to my thighs and is most definitely meant to be seen by someone. It was another gift to myself from Victoria's Secret. Too bad there's no one to see it but me. Leaving the bathroom, still towel drying my hair, I'm struck by a chill that has nothing to do with the cold.

On my bed, there is a single red rose laying on top of some kind of card. It had not been there before my shower, that I'm sure of. My heart pounds in my chest as I pick up the card. It's plain white with a decorative border. In the center, one word is written in black ink . . . _Soon_. Somewhere in the back of my panicking mind I realize that I shouldn't have touched the card, but that is the least of my worries. Someone has been in my apartment while I was here. That terrifies me more than Milan Zergin's attack ever will.

My mouth is deathly dry as I realize that the person could still be here. I rush to my bedside table and pull open the drawer. Tucked inside, in the back, is the small handgun Olivia gave me after Zergin attacked me. She spent hours teaching me to shoot it. I grab the gun and the cordless phone resting on my table and run back to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and sit down on the toilet, frantic at the thought that the person could still be in my apartment. I dial Olivia's number and pray that she answers.

On the second ring, you pick up, "_hello?_"

"Olivia, I need you to come over, please." My voice sounds small and scared and I hate it.

"_Casey, what's wrong? Are you okay_," you ask, your voice taking on a slight edge of panic.

"Someone broke into my apartment while I was in the shower, I don't know if they're still here. I locked myself in the bathroom."

I hear your sharp intake of breath and it almost makes me smile to know you care. I know that's twisted, but what can I say.

"_Don't move, I'll be right there Casey. Do you have the gun?_" The panic present before has been replaced with your cop voice.

"Yes," I say while tightening my grip on the object in question. My hand is shaking so badly that I doubt I could hit the side of a skyscraper right now, much less a person. But it does give me a small amount of comfort to feel the weight in my palm.

"_Don't be afraid to use it_. _I'm on my way_."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf.

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters.

**Chapter 4**

Horns blare as I race recklessly through the New York streets towards Casey's apartment. I only have one thought on my mind . . . I have to get to Casey. I can't let her down again. I wasn't there when Zergin attacked her and she could have died. Seeing her that night, laying unconscious and bleeding on her office floor, brought back unpleasant emotions that I never wanted to feel again.

After Alex, I swore to God that I'd never get involved with someone from work again. Then Casey Novak stormed into my life. I hated her at first. She replaced my Alex. But eventually, the fiery woman worked her way into my heart and took up residence there. I haven't told her any of this. Hell, until yesterday, I wasn't even sure she was gay. Now that I know, it's made everything even more complicated than it was before. I don't want to love her. I loved Alex and she left me. I know it wasn't her fault, but she left all the same. Everyone I love leaves me eventually. I can't bear to lose Casey too.

Even as I sit here swearing that I won't let myself love her, I know it's a lie. Today, as I cut off yet another car during my race to Casey, I realize that I'm already very much in love with her.

Fighting the panic that threatens to involuntarily empty my stomach contents, I manage to get my cell phone out and dial Elliot.

"_Hello?_"

"El, it's Olivia. Just listen, I'm on my way to Casey's. Someone broke in to her apartment while she was in the shower. She doesn't know if the perp is still there or not."

"_Shit, calvaries on its way Liv. Don't do anything stupid like going in without backup._"

Yeah right, the entire NYPD couldn't keep me out of that apartment.

"Yeah, sure. You know me."

I hear him snort through the phone.

"_That's what I'm afraid of. She'll be fine Olivia, she's a fighter, you know that._"

"Yes she is," I say as a small smile plays at the corners of my mouth.

"_Take care, we'll be there ASAP._"

The phone disconnects and I push the accelerator to the floor. Sorry Elliot, I won't lose her too.

Several close calls and yelled expletives later I screech to a halt in front of her apartment building. It barely registers that I'm double parked, I really don't care, I only have one thing on my mind. Throwing open the car door, I pull my badge from my pocket and run to the large glass double doors of the building. As I throw those open I see the doorman start to move to intercept me. Opening my badge, I flash it as I run by.

"NYPD, this is police business."

He shakes his head and steps back, obviously realizing that I'm not someone to mess with right now.

I run to the stairs, taking them two at a time all the way to the fourth floor. As I reach for my gun I feel the panic beginning to decrease as my training takes over. Slowly I move towards the door, noticing that it is slightly ajar. Pushing it open with one hand I quickly scan the room before entering with my weapon leveled and ready to fire. Nothing appears to be out of place so I move towards the hall slowly. The door to the bedroom on the left is open and I quickly clear the room before moving to the closed door on the right. My heart pounds in my ears as I push the door open and step into the small home office. Once again, I find the room clear and undisturbed.

Fairly confident that the intruder is gone, my thoughts turn once again to Casey. I move back into the bedroom cautiously, fully aware that there is a scared woman with a handgun locked in the bathroom. I don't really want to get shot today. As I call out to her I notice the rose and card laying on the bed.

"Casey? It's Olivia, are you okay," I ask loudly as I re-holster my gun.

I hear shuffling in the bathroom followed by the clicking sound of the door being unlocked. The next thing I know I'm nearly knocked off my feet by a crushing hug from a scantily clad Casey. I return it, thoroughly relieved that you're okay. We cling to each other for a minute before either of us speak.

"Hey, it's okay now. I'm here, whoever broke in is long gone."

You pull away from the hug and smile at me. It's amazing that you can convey so many emotions with a single smile.

"Thank you," you say as your eyes drift to the objects laying on the bed.

I turn to look at them as well and see the word printed on the card. My blood runs cold as I realize that this was not simply a random break in, it's personal. I take your hand and lead you away from the objects. My desire to protect you is overwhelming and it's nearly crushing me. I notice the fear still present in your eyes and I fight the impulse to pull you into my arms again. Elliot will be here soon.

"Elliot and the calvary are on their way. You should put something else on."

Please put something besides that extremely distracting robe on. I'd hate to have to shoot someone. The robe leaves nothing to the imagination and I'm having a hard enough time ignoring it. A room full of men would be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Yeah, probably a good idea. I'll be right back." I sigh in relief and pull out my cell phone as you move off towards the bathroom.

Elliot picks up the phone on the first ring.

"_Liv?_"

I smile at the concern in his voice.

"It's all clear Elliot. He left behind a calling card though, we need to call in CSU."

"_I'll take care of that. Is Casey okay?_"

"Yeah, a little shaken up, but overall she's okay."

"_Good, we'll be there in about five minutes._"

I bid goodbye to Elliot as I see you coming out of the bathroom, dressed in sweat pants and a gray Harvard tee shirt.

"Elliot and CSU will be here in about five minutes or so."

"Great." I notice the hint of sarcasm in your voice and am immediately concerned.

"You okay Case?" I realize quickly that it was the wrong thing to ask.

"Do I look okay Olivia? Someone broke into my apartment, while I was in it, and left a threatening letter on my bed! In my book, that does not add up to _okay_." You twist your long hair up into a pony-tail as you leave the bedroom and head into the living room.

I stand in shock for a moment, completely surprised by your outburst. I realize that it's coming from the fear and stress you're feeling, so I take no offense, but it still hurts a little. Walking out into the living room, I notice you sitting on the couch with your legs pulled tightly to your body. The tears running down your cheeks break my heart and I move to sit next to you on the couch. At first you pull away when I try to hold you, but you soon relax into my arms and let out a small sob.

"I'm sorry Olivia."

"Shhhhh, it's okay sweetheart," I say while stroking your hair and rocking you back and forth slowly.

I feel your body trembling, aching to release the pent up tears, but you're fighting them so hard. Watching the internal war being played out on your face, I fall in love with you just a little more. You're trying to be so strong even though I know this brings up memories of Zergin. When I met you, I would have never thought you were so strong . . . stubborn yes . . . but now I see this inner strength that radiates from you like a light. I realize, sitting here holding you, that I'm completely in awe of the person you are.

Noises from the hallway cause you to pull away from me and wipe away the wetness on your face. You smile at me and squeeze my hand just as Elliot and two uniformed officers walk through the still open apartment door. I hear him quietly tell the uniforms to secure the scene and wait for CSU before he moves closer to our position on the couch. Kneeling in front of you I notice the look of fierce protectiveness on his face. He's almost as protective of you as I am. For totally different reasons of course, but it's still there in his eyes. You're family.

"She taking care of you Casey," he asks while tilting his head in my direction.

You smile slightly.

"Of course, doesn't she always?"

He grins and squeezes your shoulder in a reassuring manor.

"We'll get him. Don't you worry about that." Elliot stands up and makes eye contact with me, silently asking me to come talk to him in a language that only people that have been partners as long as we have would understand. I nod slightly before I turn back to you.

"I'll be right back okay?"

You nod, lost in your own thoughts, as I get up and walk over to where Elliot is standing waiting for me. The slight grin he had while talking to you is gone, replaced now by a look of concern.

"She really okay," he asks quietly as we walk into the hall together.

"Yeah, I think it's bringing up some bad memories though."

Elliot's eyes darken in anger.

"That bastard didn't touch her did he?" His normally vivid blue eyes are a stormy dark blue. A hint of danger lurks in his eyes and I realize that neither of us think very clearly when it comes to a certain ADA.

"No, she never saw him. When she saw the rose and the card, she locked herself in the bathroom with her gun." He visibly relaxes a little.

"What card?"

"He left a card and rose on her bed while she was in the shower. The card just says 'soon'." I sigh and drag my hands through my hair. The adrenaline is wearing off and my body is crashing hard and fast.

"Son of a bitch." The stormy eyes are back, along with the glint of danger.

"I know."

The CSU techs finally arrive and Elliot and I direct them to the bedroom. For the first time since I got here, I take time to look at the door. There's no evidence of a forced break-in.

"El, look at this . . ."

"He had to have picked the lock," he says as he inspects the frame.

"By the way. Rape kit on Elli Richter showed minor vaginal bruising, but it was negative for fluids and hair."

The mention of Elli Richter causes my chest to tighten as I mentally connect the two events. I steady myself against the wall.

"Oh God Elliot, she knew Richter. You don't think this is connected do you," I ask, mentally praying that I'm wrong.

Elliot looks at me, confusion evident on his face.

"How well did she know the vic Olivia?"

I look at him with a sense of dread.

"They dated." Elliot's look of shock quickly dissipates as he processes the information. He's known about me for a long time, but none of us knew about Casey.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I hear the annoyance in his voice.

"She asked me not to. I didn't think it was relevant," I say, attempting to defend my actions.

"For Casey's sake, let's hope you're right."

My mind is racing as my desire to protect the woman I love reasserts itself with a vengeance. Right now, all I want to do is get her out of here. Away from all of this.

"I'm going to take Casey to my place tonight. I'll get her statement there."

Elliot nods his head in agreement as he massages his neck with one hand.

"We need to set up a protective detail for her." I'd already thought of that as well.

"Yeah, I know. Can you handle things here? I really want to get her out of here."

"I got it. Go take care of her Liv," he says as he turns to walk back into the apartment.

I follow behind and immediately notice that you're still on the couch in the same position I left you in. You seem to be lost in thought. I wish I knew what was going on in that head of your's.

"Case?" You visibly jerk at the sound of my voice.

"Sweetie, come on, let's go. I'm going to take you to my place tonight."

"You don't have to do that, I'll be fine."

Always gotta be strong don't you?

"Don't argue with me, you won't win." I smile, trying to lighten your mood.

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?" Your full lips curve into a smile that never quite reaches your eyes.

I wish I could tell you that you don't have to be strong around me. You can let your guard down, I'll be strong for you. But I have no idea how to even approach you, I've never really been the aggressor. Alex approached me, or else I'd have never told her about the feelings I had for her. As I take your hand and lead you out of the apartment, I know that this time I have to take the chance. My heart is allowing me no other options.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 5**

The ride to your apartment is made in silence, but the air between us is heavy with unspoken words. I'm really not sure why it's so hard for people to just express what they are feeling. I know what I feel for you, I only wish I had the courage to tell you. I guess in the end, that's what it really comes down to isn't it? Courage . . . the courage to see what you want and go for it. Courage is an elusive thing. It's present when you least expect it, but when you really need it . . . want it . . . it floats just beyond your grasp.

I turn to watch your face. I can't help but think of you as a guardian angel. My guardian angel. Every time I need help, you're there. It's comforting to know that. Your presence provides me with a sense of security that I have lacked for a long time. Each and every time I feel like I'm slipping away, it's your hand that comes out of the darkness and pulls me back into the light. I wonder how you do that? You seem to know what I need before I do.

"You seem to be deep in thought." Your voice sounds loud in the oppressive silence of the car.

"I'm just a little freaked out I guess." That's the understatement of the century.

I passed freaked out several hours ago. Now, I am firmly entrenched in the territory known as terror. I wouldn't tell you that. I don't want you to know that I'm that weak. The invasion into my personal sanctuary, my home, is beyond anything I know how to deal with. Zergin invaded my professional life. Of course it spilled over into my personal life. But that initial invasion, I was able to catagorize that as work and somehow that got me through it.

"We'll catch him Casey."

I have no doubt you will Olivia. My faith in you and Elliot is unshakable. But that doesn't take away the sudden urge I have to burn my comforter because I know _he_ touched it.

"I know," I answer off-handedly, still lost in the raging thoughts of my own mind.

"I'm going to set you up with a protective detail in the morning. I'll call the Captain, he'll take care of the paperwork."

I see you turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye. I'm pretty sure you're trying to gage my reaction. I think you expected me to argue because you seem surprised when I stay silent.

Reality sinks in just a bit more with your statement and I realize that I also need to talk to Branch at some point. I'll be lucky if he doesn't put me on leave, for my own good of course. At least that's what he'll say it's for. Perhaps if I beg, he'll feel sorry for me. Even as I think this, I know it's probably not going to happen. I want to work. I need to work, it's the only thing that's going to keep my mind off of this.

"Casey, we're here." You lay your hand on my arm and it feels like an electric shock. Closing my eyes, I savor the sensation for a moment, wishing it would last much longer than it does.

We get out of the car and make our way into your apartment building. A small part of me is actually excited to see your apartment, though I wish it were under better circumstances.

As you unlock the door and I follow you into the 2nd floor walk up the first thing that hits me is the lack of personality present in the apartment. A small couch sits against the wall to my right, facing a plain coffee table. The table is absolutely empty with the exception of the tv remote. Your tv sits on an entertainment center that matches the coffee table.

The recessed bookshelves lining the far wall are lined with true crime novels and criminology texts. The only decoration on the walls hang above the couch and as I walk closer I realize that they are commendations and certificates from the department. The emotionless practicality of the apartment in staggering and I find myself wondering how you stay here.

"Do you want coffee?"

My inspection is cut short by your question from the small kitchen to the left of the door.

"Of course."

You smile as you fill up the coffee pot.

"I should have known the answer to that."

We do have one thing in common, a mutual love for coffee. If someone invented a IV coffee drip, I think we would be the first two people in line.

"You need help?"

"I got it," you say as you pull the largest bag of Starbucks coffee I've ever seen out of a cabinet above the stove. I am definitely in love with this woman.

Sitting on the couch, which is surprisingly comfortable, I sigh as some of the tension I'm feeling begins to dissipate. I feel safe now, like nothing can touch me as long as I'm with you. I briefly wonder if this is how you make the victims we deal with on a daily basis feel. If it is, then I now understand why you are able to put even the most hysterical victim at ease. You have a true gift Olivia Benson.

Inhaling the rich scent of the brewing coffee, I feel my mood lighten a bit.

"Thanks again Olivia, you didn't have to do this."

"Casey, I just want to make sure you're safe. If that means hiding out in your briefcase, I'll do that too," you say while setting out two coffee mugs.

I laugh briefly at the mental image of Olivia's head sticking out of my briefcase, eyes scanning for danger.

"No sugar for me, just cream."

"I know." So you know how I take my coffee? My, you are perceptive.

You carry the two mugs over to where I'm sitting and reach one to me before taking your place on the couch beside me. I take a tentative sip of the hot liquid and take a moment to appreciate the bold flavor.

"It okay," you ask before taking a sip of your own coffee.

"It's wonderful. Thank you." I hate that it took something like this for us to be able to spend time together, but I'm not going to take it for granted.

"I had a surprise this morning while I was at the batting cages."

"Oh really?" You set your coffee on the table and draw your legs up under you with an inborn grace that is impossible to learn.

"Stephen Murphy tracked me down. You remember the fiancé from college I told you about?"

"You mean the one with schizophrenia," you ask with suspicious overtones.

"Yeah, but he's on medication now. He says it's under control." I can already see that you are suspicious of him.

"Don't go there Olivia, he wouldn't do this," I say trying to stop you from going down that route.

Stephen is a lot of things, but violent is not one of them. There were a couple of times in college, after he got sick, that I feared him. But that wasn't him. Under normal conditions, Stephen wouldn't hurt a fly.

"If you say so Casey."

I want to argue with you, convince you that he wouldn't hurt me, but I can see it would be a moot point. I decide to turn the conversation away from what could possibly be a volatile road.

"Elliot find anything out about Elli yet?"

"Rape kit showed some bruising, but no fluids or hairs. Search of her apartment turned up nothing. Right now, we're stalled."

I can't help but feel that you are holding something back from me. At this point, I'm not sure if it has something to do with Elli or if you're still stuck on Stephen. Either way, you're not telling me everything.

"What are you not telling me Olivia?" I've always been blunt.

"It's nothing Casey, I promise I'll tell you everything once I know for sure okay?"

You divert your eyes, staring into your coffee mug, and I know that you're lying to me. I don't know whether to push the issue or just let it go. I decide to let it go, I'm really not in the mood to persuade or argue with you, or anyone for that matter. You'll tell me in your own time I guess.

"How long have you known you were gay?"

Wow, apparently subtlety is not one of your strong points either. We're just jumping from one uncomfortable conversation to another. Now it's my turn to stare into my half empty coffee mug.

"Um, I wasn't sure until college. But I guess I've always known deep down."

"I knew my freshman year of high school," you say nonchalantly.

My mind is not processing that bit of information well. You just admitted to me that you are gay. Apparently my gaydar doesn't function very well, because I had no idea up until now. I silently wonder if I can get a cosmic refund for faulty gaydar. The images that this declaration inspire in my mind are anything but wholesome and I sincerely hope you don't notice that I'm probably blushing.

"You seem surprised counselor," you say, amusement evident on your face.

"You could say that." Hope that a relationship can develop between us is now soaring and I fight to stomp it down.

"I just thought you should know that." I see something else lurking in your eyes and once again I'm struck with the feeling that you're not telling me everything. This time I push the issue.

"Are you dating anyone?"

You stall, using drinking your coffee as a distraction.

"No, not at the moment," you finally answer.

I sense your hesitance to continue with this avenue of discussion and I can't help but wonder why. Could it be possible that you have feelings for me as well?

"Olivia I . . . ," I reach for that elusive courage and find nothing, "never mind."

The courage to tell you of my feelings for you slips through my hands like water.

"You want more coffee," you ask as you get up from the couch, effectively ending the uncomfortable conversation.

"No, I'm fine."

Dammit Casey, why can't you just tell her? I feel the sudden need to escape the difficult emotions present in the apartment.

"Olivia, I'm tired. Would you mind if I lay down?"

"Sure sweetie, go ahead and take my bed," you say.

I want to argue, but at this point I'm so tired that I just don't care. I follow you into the bedroom and lay down on your bed, not even bothering to change into the shorts you have offered me. I just want to sleep for a while, forget that this is happening. As I close my eyes, I silently beg my brain to allow me to sleep . . . if only for a little while.

**XXXXXXXX**

I watch you for a moment before leaving the bedroom. The desire to climb into bed beside of you and hold you until you sleep is overwhelming. Everything is so confusing right now. Developing feelings for someone is easy, it's doing something about it that's hard. Part of me feels like you are vulnerable right now. Perhaps that's why I'm holding back, I don't know. All I know is that I have to protect you.

Pulling my cell phone out I dial a familiar number.

"_Stabler_."

"Hey Elliot, I got a name for you to check out," I say quietly, still not sure if you're asleep.

"_Who?_" I'm sorry Casey, but I have to investigate every angle.

"Stephen Murphy."

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6**

I sit in my office late at night doing paperwork. The small desk lamp casts shadows throughout the darkened office. I sense someone behind me and turn to stare directly into the face of Milan Zergin. Briefly I wonder how he got out of prison before I am yanked violently from my desk chair and tossed across the room. In a matter of seconds, he is on me again, grabbing the front of my shirt and hauling me up from the floor.

"Bitch," he sneers before backhanding me to the floor once again.

Panic is crushing my chest and I gasp for air. I wonder if he will kill me this time. A small part of me hopes for death. I don't want to feel the pain again, because this time I know it will be worse. A vicious kick to my side forces the air from my lungs as the white hot pain flares through my chest.

I try to crawl away from him while holding my injured side. I don't get far before he grabs my ankle and drags me back towards him. Briefly we struggle as he tries to turn me over on my back. He punches my already injured side, using the distraction to turn me onto my back.

He straddles me, once again grabbing the front of my shirt, to pull me into a bone jarring punch that shatters my nose. I feel the bones crack and though I am at the edge of consciousness, I can feel the blood running down my face.

As he pulls back his arm for another punch I hear you calling out to me. At first it sounds so far away that I'm not sure it's real. Gradually your voice gets louder and louder until it is almost a scream.

"Casey!!"

My eyes fly open and immediately I throw my hands up in defense of the phantom blows.

"Casey, it's just a dream. Wake up!"

The fog of sleep begins to lift and I realize that it was just a nightmare. Milan Zergin is still in prison where he belongs and I'm safe in Olivia's apartment. My breath is coming in great gasps and the wetness on my face lets me know that I've been crying. I try to control my breathing, fully aware that I'm precariously close to a full blown panic attack.

"Shhhh, it's okay," you say softly as you slide your arms around me.

I try to concentrate on controlling my breathing and the feeling of your strong embrace. Slowly I begin to gain some control. God, I haven't had a nightmare about Zergin for months. After the attack, this was a nightly occurrence. I really thought I had moved past this.

I pull back from you, suddenly embarrassed, as I wipe at the tears still clinging to my cheeks. I hate to cry. I never used to do it, not until Special Victims. I have cried more in the last couple of years than I have my entire life.

"I'm sorry," I say, turning away from your concerned gaze.

Gently, you turn my head so that I am facing you once again.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

I give you a small smile as you smooth my dampened hair away from my face. I allow you to pull me into another embrace and I marvel at your ability to calm me.

"I have breakfast if you're hungry," you say as you begin to pull away.

I regret the loss of contact, but I allow you to pull away from me.

"You cook?" I raise one eyebrow, completely unaware and a little wary of your culinary talents.

Your laughter fills the room as I attempt to untangle myself from the twisted sheets.

"Um. . .no. I shop. I went to the bagel shop down the street."

I follow you out to the small kitchenette where you have laid out enough bagels to feed a small army.

"Hungry Olivia?"

You turn an endearing shade of pink and look down at your sneaker clad feet. Your actions are absolutely adorable and I fight the sudden urge to cross the kitchen and kiss you.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got one of everything."

Scanning the assortment of bagels, I snatch one that appears to be cinnamon raisin. As I sit down at the small table, you place a mug of fresh coffee in front of me before sliding into the chair across from me.

"Careful Detective, you're going to spoil me," I say as I sort through the various packets of flavored cream cheese. Finding a plain one, I rip it open and begin to spread it over the still warm bagel.

"That's the idea."

Thoroughly surprised by your candor, I mask it by taking a bite of the bagel.

"Do you have those a lot," you ask quietly.

"I used to, right after the attack. But I haven't lately, I guess everything that's happened is kind of bringing it back."

I've never talked to anyone about the attack or the subsequent nightmares. Sharing is just not something I do well especially when it comes to my personal demons.

"Did you get any sleep last night," I ask, attempting to change the subject.

"Some, I had things to take care of."

You look down at the table and I know you're lying to me again. I can read you like a book Benson.

"Like what?" I know I sound pushy, but I really don't care. I'm tired of your half-truths. I know you'd never lie to me without reason, so you must be trying to protect me in some way.

"I called and set up the protection detail."

"And?" I look at you expectantly.

"And what," you ask, trying to appear innocent and failing miserably.

"Olivia, I'm a big girl. Just tell me whatever it is that you're holding back."

I put my bagel down and stare at you, awaiting an answer. This is my life dammit and I'm not a child. You sigh and lean forward, your face taking on a look of dread.

"I had Elliot check out Stephen."

"You what!? Olivia you had no right, I told you he wouldn't do this!"

The volume of my voice elevates with each word and before I realize it, I'm practically screaming at you. The stress of the last two days is finally coming out and you are the unfortunate target.

"He has a record for assault Casey." Your voice is flat and emotionless and it infuriates me even more.

"I know that. He told me. He was sick Olivia."

Stephen told me how he ended up at Bellevue and all about the assault he was charged with. Before he started taking medication, he attacked a woman in the park. She wasn't injured seriously and he was so lost in his paranoid delusions that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He ended up at Bellevue and got a second chance at life. I will not allow you start a witch-hunt just because you need someone to blame.

"He didn't do this Olivia." My voice is now deadly calm.

"Don't you think that it's a little strange that he shows up and all of a sudden you're getting threats? God Casey, how can you be so naive?"

I am so angry with you at this point that I'm afraid to say anything, for fear that I may seriously regret it later. Pushing away from the table, I get up and walk into the bedroom, needing to put some distance between us.

Pacing for a moment, I try to stifle the tears that press against the backs of my eyes demanding release. I finally give it up and sit on the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. As I wrap my arms around my legs the first of many tears begins to fall. Before I know it, I'm sobbing uncontrollably and hating every minute of it.

"Oh God Casey, I'm so sorry."

I look up through the tears to see you standing in the door frame. The pained look on your face is enough to make some of the anger dissipate.

"I'm just trying to protect you the only way I know how. I can't lose you . . ."

You walk closer to the bed and sit down near me. I see tears running down your cheeks and I realize that this is the first time I've ever seen you cry. The rest of my anger falls away.

"Olivia?" I'm not sure where this is going and I don't want to get my hopes up.

"I love you. I'm _in_ love with you Casey."

I am completely blown away. I've wanted to hear this for so long that I'm afraid I've imagined it. Before I even process your last declaration, you are talking again.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, I just wanted you to know. So you would understand why I'm so overprotective of you. I lost Alex because I couldn't protect her and I never thought I could love anyone like that again and then you came along and I hated you so much for replacing her. But then I started to fall for you . . ."

Olivia Benson is babbling. If I weren't so shocked I would find it cute. Leaning forward, I place a light kiss on your lips, effectively silencing your speech. You stare at me with impossibly wide eyes.

"I love you too Olivia."

I reach out and touch your damp cheek, wiping your tears away.

"You do," you ask, managing to look as shocked as I feel.

"Yes, I do."

The absolute sense of elation I feel is intoxicating. I've imagined this moment for so long that I never really thought much about what I would do if it actually came. We sit staring at each other awkwardly, neither of sure where to go from here.

"I just want to keep you safe. I never wanted to hurt you, you know that right?" You look down at your hands and I wonder if you expect me to yell at you again.

"I know and I'm sorry I blew up on you. You didn't deserve that."

I reach out and take your hand and our eyes meet again.

"Stay here with me tonight," you ask, silently begging me with your eyes.

"There's no where else I'd rather be."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf. I'm just borrowing them, I may return them . . . at some point. :)

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters.

**Chapter 7**

As I ascend the imposing stairs of the DA's Office, my small entourage of uniformed officers in tow, an almost crazy smile graces my face. Olivia and I spent the remainder of yesterday laying on the couch, relaxing and just talking. With the hard part out of the way and our feelings out on the table, things between us just began to flow easily. Despite the current situation it was the most wonderful day I've had in years.

I try and ignore the barely disguised looks of curiosity directed my way. An ADA being escorted by two uniforms is a little conspicuous and I doubt the office rumor mill has spread the news of the weekends events yet. I mumble a few 'good mornings' to various coworkers while trying to make my way to my office. Finally arriving, I point the officers, Kent and Jacobi I think, towards a small sitting area down the hall.

Officer Jacobi just grunts and rolls his eyes as he turns to head towards the sitting area. Overweight and balding, he's a shining example of the apathetic police officer that's been on the job way too long and had one too many doughnuts.

Kent, the ladies man of the pair, gives me a wide toothy grin and a mock salute.

"You need anything Ms. Novak, you just let me know."

I smile at him, amused by his flirtations. You are barking up the wrong tree buddy, in fact you're not even in the right neighborhood. I suppose most women would find the wide-eyed, earnest, 'I'm just here to protect and serve' routine cute. Well I'm not most women, besides I've recently acquired a cop of my own and I guarantee you that her badge is bigger than yours.

I giggle to myself as I toss my briefcase on the small couch to the left. Just as I begin to strip my obligatory trench coat off, the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket makes me nearly leap out of my skin. Feeling rather foolish I wrestle the chirping object out of my coat. My stomach begins doing a gold medal gymnastics routine as I see your number flash across the small screen.

Damn, I feel like I'm 16 again.

"Hi there."

"_Hello beautiful." _

It's only been an hour since I left your apartmentbut hearing your voice makes me long to be close to you once again.

"Having a good morning so far?"

"_Mmmm, s'okay. Elliot and I are just heading over to the lab. You?_" Your voice is quiet and I wonder if you're trying to keep someone from hearing our conversation.

"So far. But I have to meet with Branch in twenty minutes. I pretty sure he'll take me off of the Richter case and that's if he doesn't suspend me outright."

Sighing, I recall my conversation with him yesterday evening. He'd sounded very concerned and sympathetic, assuring me that the DA's office would see that this was taken care of. I found myself wondering if it was a recording that he played for every harassed ADA. Honestly, I know my head is not where it needs to be right now. I understand the importance of me being on top of my game. I know that when I'm not, people get hurt . . . but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

"_You don't know that he'll do that Casey_." I smile as I imagine the look of admonishment that I'm fairly certain your face holds.

"I guess we'll see," I say offhandedly.

No offense, but I know Branch a bit better than you sweetheart. He doesn't like drama in the office and an Assistant DA with her very own stalker is the epitome of drama.

"_How does Chinese sound?_"

"What?" My voice reflects the confusion I feel.

"_For lunch I mean. Do you want to go out or should I bring take out?_"

"Oh, um . . . go out, I guess." I have a feeling I'll need a break by then.

"_Okay, I'll be by around noon._"

"I'm already looking forward to it."

"_Good. Be careful Casey._" The sincere concern conveyed in that simple statement causes my chest to swell with emotion. I'd forgotten how good it feels to know someone cares.

We say our goodbyes and I realize that it's almost time for my meeting with the DA. I hang my coat in the small closet and lock my briefcase in my file cabinet before going out to retrieve my watchdogs.

"Hey guys, I have to go upstairs," I say, sticking my head in the door of the waiting room.

Neither of them look very thrilled with their babysitting duties, but at least Kent is trying. Officer Jacobi is practically oozing hostility.

"Branch's secretary has gourmet coffee and doughnuts."

That got their attention, especially Officer Jacobi's. I smirk as I head toward the elevators that will take me up to Branch's office. A few short moments later I'm standing in front of the DA's door trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I take a deep breath and plaster on my best fake smile before going in.

Arthur Branch, District Attorney of the City of New York, is standing in front of his desk talking with a woman that looks vaguely familiar.

"Ahhh, Casey. Come on in," he drawls in his thick southern accent.

"I believe you've met Madeline Forbes." He indicates the tall woman beside him.

Uh oh, think Casey, where have you met her?

"We worked together on a case when we were both still in White Collar." She smiles widely as she holds out her hand.

Oh thank God, because I couldn't remember for the life of me where we'd met. I take her hand and the first thing I notice is her height. She's actually almost evenly matched with me and that's rare because I'm 5'10" barefoot. Her curly, black hair is pulled severely back into a chignon at the nape of her neck and her tailored slate gray suit fits every curve like it was made especially for her. Intelligent blue eyes scan me from head to toe and I quickly grow uncomfortable with the scrutiny. She nods her head almost imperceptibly as she drops my hand and I can't help but feel like I've passed some sort of inspection.

"It's good to see you again Madeline," I say politely.

"Now that you two ladies are reacquainted, we have some business to discuss." He crosses behind his desk and sits down in his large leather chair.

Both of us take a seat in front of his desk and wait expectantly.

"Now Casey, I know you've had quiet an ordeal these past few months. Everyone here is just amazed how quickly you've bounced back. But with this past weekend's events, I think it's high time for you to have some help."

"Help?" Now, I'm truly confused. I came up here expecting to be put on paid leave pending the outcome of the investigation, not get a second chair.

"Madeline here is just coming out of Brooklyn Homicide with an excellent record. I think she'd make a fine addition to the Manhattan SVU team."

After a moment of shock, I recover, shooting Madeline a smile.

"Of course, I'd be thrilled to have her," I say, genuinely happy that I'm not being forced into taking leave.

Branch slaps his hand on his desk and the abrupt sound startles us both.

"Good, it's settled then. Madeline will take the Richter case and handle anything to do with the unfortunate events over the weekend. The rest of it you two can work out on your own."

He opens up a file and shoots a look our way indicating that the meeting is over. Both of us rise out of the chairs at the same time and walk out of the office. Shutting the door behind us, I notice the officers sitting off to the side on a couch, looking rather bored. They get up to follow us out as we head back down to the peon levels of the DA's office.

"You know, Casey . . . do you mind if I call you Casey?" Madeline's voice holds a slight accent that I can't place and it annoys me slightly. I'm usually good at picking out accents.

"Casey's fine," I say while placing my hands in my pockets.

"You know I'm really pleased to be working with you. You've got quite a reputation around here."

I instantly feel the heat on my face and I know that I'm blushing.

"All good I hope," I laugh self-consciously.

"Oh yes, most of it anyways."

It's not until I catch the slight smirk that I realize she's joking. We both start laughing and I decide that maybe today won't be so bad after all.

"Seriously Casey. You have a reputation for being a tough prosecutor with a knack for winning the cases that no one else wants to touch. I think I can learn a lot from you." The younger woman smiles at me and I blush again from the compliment.

"Do you have anything scheduled for the afternoon," I ask.

"No, nothing important. Why?"

"I could take you down to the 1-6 and introduce you to the SVU squad if you want."

This afternoon is as good a time as any to spring the news on them. Of course Olivia will know in advance, but the rest of them are probably not going to be too happy that they'll have to get used to working with another ADA on some of their cases. They might not have liked how I worked at first, but at least now they are used to me.

"Around 2 o'clock good for you," she asks as she pulls out a Palm Pilot from God knows where and begins to tap furiously at the screen.

Oh lord, another control freak. Stabler and the rest of the squad are gonna love this. I fight to keep myself from laughing as I imagine the looks on their faces the first time she pulls the tiny device out in front of them. They teased me for months about my obsessively organized day planner.

"2 o'clock it is. See you then Madeline," I say, waving to the already retreating figure.

So what if I color code my appointment book so I can keep them all straight? At least it's not electronic and permanently attached to my body. Moving off towards my office I get strange looks from Kent and Jacobi as I let out an evil laugh. They thought I was overbearing huh? Just wait until I sic little Ms. Palm Pilot on them.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8**

I enter the DA's office a few minutes before noon with an extra bounce in my step that's not been there for a long time. The day is overcast and cold but the depressing weather is not even touching my ecstatic emotional state. Elliot has been badgering me all morning about why I'm in such a good mood. He's my best friend and the desire to tell him about Casey and I is overwhelming but I resolved to check with her first.

Making my way to Casey's office through the hectic midday chaos that is the DA's office I look down at the small bouquet of flowers in my hand. A vendor on the corner was selling the beautiful pink and white striped roses and I just couldn't resist. Riding the elevator up, I find myself whistling "What A Wonderful World" and garnering strange looks from my fellow elevator occupants. The elevator alarm chimes to announce my arrival on the fourth floor and I shoot the other people a blinding smile before continuing my rendition of the classic song and exiting the elevator.

I hide the flowers behind my back as I get closer to your office. Approaching the door I hear an animated and rather one sided conversation. Jealously rears it's head as I take in the young uniformed officer sitting on the corner of your desk relating some heroic tale that I'm pretty sure is complete bullshit. You look like a cornered canary being stalked by a cat as you smile and nod your head periodically. The glazed look of your eyes tells me that in reality you're probably going over your grocery list while pretending to listen to the tall tale.

"Ready for lunch counselor," I ask a little louder than I should.

The thoroughly relieved look you shoot me quells any questions I may have had about your enjoyment of the conversation.

"Detective Benson, meet Officer Kent."

The young man turns his 10,000 watt smile on me and I find myself wondering how he gets his teeth that white.

"It's a pleasure Detective Benson," he says, drawing my title out in rather suggestive manor that causes me to shudder involuntarily. Not on your life greaseball.

Arching my eyebrow at him I look to you and catch the wicked little smirk you're wearing.

"Um, Casey I need to discuss that thing with you, remember?" I really hope he just gets the hint and leaves the office without me having to boot him out.

"That thing," you ask with an adorably clueless expression.

I arch both of my eyebrows at you, mentally willing you to catch on. Realization dawns in your eyes a few seconds later.

"Oh yes, the _thing_," you say before turning to Officer Kent who's still perched on your desk.

"Can you excuse us? We have to discuss her testimony for an upcoming trial."

"No problem Casey," he says before winking at you and strolling out of the room.

_Since when does he call you Casey??_ _Did he just wink at MY girlfriend??_ Back off buddy, she's mine. The green monster rears it's head with a vengeance as I glare after the infuriating little man attempting to incinerate him with the force of my thoughts. My brows knit together in annoyance as I continue my incoherent mental tirade.

I don't even notice you cross the room to stand in front of me until you take your hand and smooth the wrinkle between my brows away with a grin.

"You're gonna give yourself premature wrinkles Olivia."

Gazing into your twinkling green eyes, I melt into a goofy smile. I suddenly remember the flowers still held behind my back and I extend my arm offering them to you.

"They're beautiful." Your grin spreads into a full blown smile as you bring the flowers close to your face and inhale their sweet scent.

"Thank you," you say before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on my cheek.

I watch silently as you gaze around the office a moment before your eyes settle on the cheesy 'Softball Player of the Year' trophy sitting atop your file cabinet. Retrieving the object in question and a bottle of water sitting on your desk, you fill the plastic trophy with water and place the bouquet in it. You turn to me with a rather satisfied grin and extend your hand.

"Ready to go?"

I shake my head and chuckle as I take your hand and lead you out of the office.

"What were you thinking about when he was telling you that story?"

"I was mentally reciting New York Penal Code," you say grinning.

"You do that often," I ask in between fits of laughter.

"More than you know Olivia. More than you know."

**XXXXXXX**

Lunch passed too quickly for my taste and my good mood of earlier is severely dampened as I arrive back at the precinct. The only saving grace of the afternoon is that you'll be here soon with the new ADA. I'm slightly nervous about meeting the woman, but you've assured me that you checked up on her and she's a quite competent attorney. No matter how competent she is, she's still not you. Oh well, at least you won't have such an enormous case load anymore. I guess there's a silver lining to every cloud.

"Have a nice lunch Liv?" Elliot gracefully props his feet up on his desk and crosses his arms over a massive chest.

One look at the mischievous twinkle in his eyes warns me that this is definitely a loaded question. I spoke to you over lunch and you seemed to have no problem with Elliot knowing, so I slide my desk chair over beside him and sit down.

"Look Elliot, you're going to badger me until I tell you so I might as well spill it."

Taking his feet off of his desk, he leans in close with a barely concealed look of glee.

"I went to lunch with Casey. We're . . . seeing . . . each other." The look of glee disappears.

"Uh huh. Is it serious," he asks with an unreadable expression.

"What do you mean by that?" I'm not really sure I like this line of conversation.

"I mean, are you serious about her, or are you just playing? Cause she's a nice lady and I'd hate to see her get hurt."

God, I feel like I'm talking to Casey's father. Annoyance flairs and I'm a bit hurt that Elliot thinks I would use Casey. I mean damn, I know I have a bit of a spotty track record, but how callous does he think I am?

"Elliot, I would _never_ hurt her. It's serious, okay?" I know my voice is harsh, but I really don't care.

"Calm down Liv. I'm just making sure. I like Casey, ya know? She's had a rough year."

The palpable concern he is projecting causes my temper to recede a bit. You sure manage to attract a lot of champions Casey. I smile slightly at Elliot, secretly pleased that he cares for Casey so much. It makes it easier when your best friend likes your significant other.

"Did the lab call about the card yet?"

"Yeah, nothing. Only prints on the card were Casey's." His face reflects the disappointment I feel.

Munch waltzes in the squad room at that moment, towing a rather sour looking Fin.

"It's a conspiracy I tell ya. The government is watching your every move Fin."

Oh God, not more conspiracy theories. I love Munch to death and he's a hell of a cop, but if I hear one more paranoid conspiracy theory about the evil government spies I'm going to scream.

Fin catches my gaze and silently mouths, "_help me_."

I shrug, indicating that he's on his own, before quickly finding a random file on my desk to read.

"Casey! What brings you down to our humble little abode," Munch asks, interrupting his tirade about the CIA's ongoing mind control experiments.

At the mention of your name I immediately perk up and look at the door. There's a woman that I don't recognize standing behind you looking around nervously. Must be our new ADA. I look a little closer at the woman, finding her pretty enough if you like the evil librarian look.

"And who's this lovely lady?" Munch strolls up to the new ADA, Madeline if I remember correctly, wearing his best seductive grin.

"Madeline Forbes, meet Detective John Munch." Your smokey voice fills the room and I shudder a little, the sudden urge to get you alone for a couple of minutes preoccupying my mind.

"Pleasure to meet you Detective Munch," the woman says as she allows Munch to lead her off towards Fin.

"Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the squad," Munch says with a rather charming smile.

Elliot and I look at each other for a beat before simultaneously rolling our eyes and shaking our heads. You make your way over to my desk and lean on the edge.

"I think John is attempting to make my second the fourth Mrs. John Munch."

"Ermm, I think that's fifth Case." Elliot tosses over his shoulder while watching Munch animatedly introduce Madeline to the Captain.

Your perfume surrounds me and I inhale deeply, closing my eyes. I abruptly get up and whisper in your ear for you to follow me. Elliot looks at us and raises his eyebrows as we rush out of the squad room towards the nearest ladies room.

A quick check under the stall doors and I pull you into an embrace followed shortly by a deep, probing kiss.

"Wow, are you going to greet me like that every time we see each other?"

I feel you smile against my lips and I pull back slightly, looking into your emerald green eyes.

"Every chance I get counselor."

You lean in, capturing my lips again, and I lose myself momentarily in your touch. Some part of me registers the sound of the door opening and the surprised gasp from the intruder. We jump away from each other like teenagers that just got caught making out by our parents.

"I'm sorry, I just needed to . . . . get some paper towels," a very embarrassed and flustered Madeline Forbes stammers before reaching out to pull a huge hand full of paper towels from the dispenser.

"Yep, just needed some paper towels," she says, continuing to yank wads of towels from the dispenser.

"I'll be going now." The attorney abruptly turns to leave with a massive ball of paper towels clutched to her chest.

We both turn to look at each other and burst into hysterical giggles.

"Busted."

"I better go do some damage control, I'll see you later okay?" You lean in for another quick kiss before leaving the rest room.

I return to squad room after splashing some water on my very overheated skin and composing myself.

"You've got a package on your desk Olivia, FedEx just dropped it off."

Lifting the package in question, I notice the lack of a return address and a sense of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. I rip it open and dump the contents on my desk. A black scrapbook falls from the envelope with a thud. Looking to Elliot briefly, I pull latex gloves out of my desk drawer before opening the book.

Pictures of Casey leaving her apartment, the court house, even pictures of her at the batting cages assault my senses. Newspaper clippings that mention Casey in some capacity decorate several of the pages. The articles date back almost two years. Nausea rolls over me in waves and I swallow convulsively in an attempt to keep my lunch as I look through the twisted homage.

The final page is blank with the exception of a single sentence written in the same scrolling text as the card.

_You can't protect her Olivia._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 9**

I run as fast as my heels will allow me in an attempt to catch Madeline. As I blow through the squad room on the bottom level, my watchdogs get up to follow. I shoot them a look of annoyance. I'm already tired of them and it's only been a day, this is not good.

Finally managing to get out the front doors of the precinct, I catch sight of Madeline attempting to hail a cab not far away.

"Madeline!"

She looks my way and immediately begins to walk up the busy city sidewalk away from me.

"Madeline, stop!"

People part and flow around us like a river flowing around rocks. You would think we would draw some kind of attention to ourselves, but we don't. New York is nice that way, everyone minds there own business.

"I need to talk to you," I say with a tinge of desperation in my voice that even surprises me.

Finally the retreating woman stops, turning to look at me with an expression that can only be described as pure, unadulterated annoyance. Way to go Casey, you couldn't have picked a better way to initiate your second chair on her first day.

"What do you want Ms. Novak?" Well, I see I'm no longer Casey.

"Look, you shouldn't have seen that. It was very unprofessional of us. I'm sorry."

I relax a little as some of the tension that seems to be coiled in her body disappears.

"It's really none of my business," she says in a clipped tone.

"You're right Madeline. It really isn't. But I'm still sorry that . . ."

" . . . you got caught making out with your girlfriend in the ladies room?" The tinge of humor in her voice betrays the look of annoyance still present on her face.

My face immediately turns red at the blunt declaration. Well, when you put it that way.

"Yeah, something like that." I unleash what I hope is my most charming smile.

"Honestly Casey, I don't care who you fraternize with. It was just a bit of a shock, that's all."

I really don't buy the sudden turn around. There's something in her eyes that just doesn't match the diplomatic speech at all. I can't quite place it. It's almost like a darkness, flitting just at the edges of her eyes. Whatever it is, it tells me that she's not nearly as approving of the situation as she's pretending to be. The emotion disappears almost as quickly as it appeared and I find myself wondering if I didn't imagine the whole thing.

"Are you sure Madeline? Because I'd really prefer this to stay between us."

"Of course!" She makes a gesture of locking her lips and throwing away the key.

"Do you have time for a cup of coffee? There's a nice little café a couple of blocks away," I ask, hoping I can bribe her with Mocha, to insure her silence. Branch is the _last_ person I want to know about all this.

I wince as the Palm Pilot again makes an appearance. After a few moments of tapping, she looks up with a pleased grin.

"I'm all free. I sent an e-mail and rescheduled my afternoon appointment."

"You did that with the Palm Pilot?" Perhaps I will have to give the small device a bit more consideration.

"Oh yeah, it's wireless. Best purchase I've ever made," she says, beaming as if she's talking about a child.

Hmm, maybe a trip to Best Buy is in order after all Casey. I wonder if they make it in lime green?

**XXXXXXXXXXXX**

My vision focuses on the book in front of me and all other things fall away. The squad room drags to slow motion as revulsion and horror surge through my body.

_You can't protect her Olivia_.

The words burn themselves into my brain, repeating over and over until they are almost indecipherable. The urge to rush out of the precinct and find Casey is a magnetic pull that overwhelms my logical mind. I want to hide the younger woman away, where no on will find her. But even now, in my panicked state, a part of me knows that she won't allow that.

I have to protect her. A hand on my shoulder partially draws me out of my fugue.

"Liv, let me have the book."

Until that moment, I had not realized that I was still clutching the object in question. I look to Elliot, tears filling my eyes, before allowing him to take the scrapbook from my hands. He places it in a clear evidence bag before giving it to John and quietly asking him to take it down to the lab.

"I'll have them put a rush on it," he says, before he and Fin leave the squad room with a final sympathetic look in my direction.

I feel the need to escape and I quickly head towards the interview room, relishing the quieter atmosphere. I'm not sure how long I'd been sitting in here with my head in my hands when the door opens and Elliot and Dr. Huang enter.

"Olivia, are you okay?" George's soft, monotone voice grates my nerves. I shoot him a look that tells him to find a new line of questioning . . . quickly.

"What can you tell us about stalkers Doc," Elliot asks, changing the subject, as he pulls out an uncomfortable plastic chair and sits down.

"Well it depends, there are many classifications. From what I've seen of the threats I would postulate that this person is classified as an organized obsessional stalker, who has developed a calculated, controlled aggression towards the victim."

It's Casey dammit, not just 'the victim'. I take a breath in preparation of telling George where to shove his psychobabble. After a warning look from Elliot, I manage to hold my tongue.

"The aggression is born of a convoluted belief that the object of obsession is in some way rejecting the perpetrator," the psychiatrist continues his lecture.

"Do you think this is someone she knows," I ask.

"It could be, but it's most likely someone she's had very little or no official contact with. Stalkers tend to fixate rapidly and randomly."

Dr. Huang continues pacing around the room with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black slacks.

"What about Richter," I ask, though I'm not sure I want the answer.

"Honestly Olivia, I believe it's connected. Elli Richter would have been seen as a threat."

Elliot's eyes grow wide and immediately, I know what he's thinking. Truthfully, I'm much more worried about Casey than myself.

"What about Olivia?"

"She too could be seen as a threat. I would be careful Olivia, the perp is obviously already aware of your involvement."

I see Elliot's mind working and I cut him off before he can speak.

"I will not have a protection detail Elliot. I can take care of myself," I say, attempting to project that there is no room for argument on this subject.

I get the feeling from his expression that the discussion is not over, but I decide to ignore it for the moment. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Several hours later I find myself standing in front of Casey's apartment door. I offer the officer sitting by the door a smile. It's not the same one from earlier, apparently a new shift has started. Hesitantly I raise my hand to knock, still not sure how I'm going to tell her about the package from earlier.

After a couple of knocks the door opens and you are standing before me in the same suit you were wearing earlier. Your blonde hair is gone, replaced by your natural red color, and a shorter shoulder length cut. Staring for a moment, shocked by the abrupt change, I reminisce about the first time I met you. God, you were infuriating. When you stormed into that apartment and started barking orders, I was so furious with you I could hardly speak. Little did I know back then that we would end up here.

"Your hair . . . " I can think of nothing else to say.

You smile, bringing a hand up to tuck the newly reddened locks behind your ear.

"I've been wanting to do it for a while. Blonde really wasn't my color."

Entering your apartment and pushing the door shut, I lean in and capture your lips. The sweet, undemanding kiss that follows takes my breath away and we stand staring at each other after it's over.

"It looks wonderful. Reminds me of when we first met," I say fondly.

You wince and roll your eyes.

"Are you sure that's a good thing?"

"Absolutely," I say before smiling and pulling you into a quick hug.

"Did you talk to Madeline?"

"Yeah, everything's taken care of. I think she was just a little shocked, ya know?"

You walk across the room gracefully and curl up on the overstuffed cream colored couch. I follow and curl up beside you, allowing you to pull me against your chest. Laying my head back on your shoulder, I melt into your gentle embrace as I gently run my fingers up and down your calf.

"Good, for a minute I thought she was going to faint." Your laughter causes my body to shake and before long I'm laughing along with you.

"It was kind of funny wasn't it?"

The scrapbook still lurks at the edges of my mind, demanding to be addressed, but I do my best to ignore it. I don't know how to tell you. Finally I decide that there is plenty of time, I'll tell you later.

"Is Casey short for something," I ask, pulling the question out of my ass to avoid talking about the current situation.

"Yes, Detective Benson, it is. But you won't get it out of me without copious amounts of torture."

Now, my interest is fully piqued. I turn over to stare into your eyes, mischief evident on my face. I wonder if you're ticklish? Lightening quick, my hands shoot out to tickle your ribs. In a matter of seconds your laughter fills the apartment and tears run down your cheeks. Gotcha Novak.

"Stop! Ahhh, Olivia! Stop it . . ." you say breathlessly, in between bouts of giggles.

"Tell me . . ." I cease my attack momentarily.

"Never!"

I resume my previous activities and before long you're once again shouting for me to stop.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you," you say wiping away the tears of laughter.

That was easier than I thought. I sit awaiting the hard won information.

"Casmira."

"That's a rather unusual name."

"It's Slavic, my father's parents are from the Czech Republic. They insisted on a traditional name. My mother however, would only agree to it if she could call me Casey."

"I think it's beautiful, like it's owner." Wow, Benson you're just turning into a big mush ball aren't you?

I settle back against your chest in my previous position.

"If you tell anybody, I'll kill you," you say, placing a kiss on my temple.

"My lips are sealed."

We lay in silence for a moment, simply enjoying the feel of being so close. Your breath tickles my neck and I fight to suppress the burn that starts deep in my stomach. I will not rush things. I want everything to absolutely perfect between us the first time.

"So, anything happen at the precinct today after we left?" I can't tell if you already know about the threat or not, but the question strikes me as odd.

God, I have to tell you. You have a right to know, despite my desire to shield you from anything unpleasant.

"I got a package not long after you left. It was another threat, Casey."

I feel your body freeze behind me.

"What did it say," you ask quietly.

I sit up and drag my hands through my hair. Exhaling heavily I glance at you. Your face is emotionless, but your eyes are rife with turmoil.

"It said I couldn't protect you."

"I don't believe that."

Surprised by your response, I look into your eyes trying to get some hint of what you're thinking. There is nothing, not even the turmoil of a few moments ago. Your face, your eyes . . . neither of them register any emotion or thought. Your reaction worries me and I make a mental note to ask Huang about it tomorrow before I allow you to pull me back into a tight embrace.

TBC

**Additional Notes: **Casey's last name is Slavic. So in an effort to give her a little bit more of a past, I gave her a Slavic first name as well! Casmira (or Kasmira) actually means "_commanding peace_" and is connected on most sites to the name Casey. Literary freedom is a wonderful thing. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf. I'm just borrowing them, I may return them . . . at some point. :)

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters.

**Chapter 10**

The sunlight filters through the curtains and illuminates your face. You've been curled along my side for the better part of the night, your red hair splayed across my chest haphazardly. I lay with my arms wrapped around you, dozing in and out of sleep, never quite reaching restful slumber.

Every move you've made has caused my eyes to fly open, acutely aware of my surroundings. Occasionally you whimper, a heartbreaking sound reminiscent of a trapped animal, and I fight the urge to shake you awake. You need to sleep, but the tension and fear present on your face make me wonder what demons are chasing you in your sleep. If I could fight those for you as well, I would.

It's almost 6 AM and I know we'll have to get up soon and start our respective days. But it's not quite there yet and until then, I lay here and memorize the feel of you in my arms. I know without a doubt that this is not a feeling I ever want to forget. The level of intimacy between us is unparalleled and I've never felt this close to anyone, even Alex.

I loved Alex with everything that I am. But there was always this unreachable part of her that she allowed no one access to, not even me. Our relationship was all fire and passion with the physical parts coming into play early and often. With you, the passion is very much present, but our bond is a soothing one born out of two people clinging desperately to one another in a storm. The wind and driving rains rage around us, but we are immune to it, lost in our own little world where there is no evil . . . only love. I feel like I can face any demons and persevere as long as I know you will be there beside me.

Your increasing movements signal that you are waking up and I tighten my hold, sorry that this moment of peace will soon end.

"Morning." Misty green eyes, softened with sleep, gaze blearily at me.

"Morning sweetie, how did you sleep," I ask, though I know that the answer is not good.

"Not very well. Did you go to sleep at all?"

Sitting up, you pull the blanket around your shoulders to ward off the early morning chill.

"Yeah, a little," I lie. Your expression makes it clear that you don't believe me.

"Okay, not really."

"Obviously if you've made it 35 years, you know that sleep is a required human behavior. So, I'm not going to lecture."

The first smile of the morning curls the corners of your full lips slightly upwards and I lean in and brush a light kiss over them.

"I'm going to grab a shower. I've got to meet El at the lab in a couple of hours," I say as I drag myself out of the warm bed.

"Okay. You hungry? I could make something for breakfast."

I'm not hungry, but the hopeful look on your face makes me smile and agree as I pad off towards the bathroom. You follow, pausing to pull a clean towel out of the small linen closet before handing it to me. With a final kiss on the tip of my nose, that makes me blush like a school girl, you leave me to my shower with a smile.

I emerge from the bathroom a short time later and the inviting scent of fresh coffee and food floats from the kitchen. The scent must have activated something in my brain because my stomach growls in response. Quickly dressing from the small overnight bag I keep at your apartment, I make my way into the kitchen.

A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage links is already on the small table and I smile at the normalcy of the whole situation. That is something that we sorely lack in our lives. Most people take the simple act of waking up and having breakfast with the person you love for granted. Between our respective jobs, normalcy is not really an issue for us.

Grabbing two mugs from the dish drainer, I quickly go about fixing our coffee as you carry your plate to the table.

"This is nice." I smile at you as I place your mug on the table.

"It is isn't it?"

Sitting down, I pick up my fork and spear a sausage link. I take a bite and immediately notice something a little off about it's taste. Not in a bad way, just different.

"What kind of sausage is this?"

"The non-meat variety," you say, grinning and then taking a bite of your own breakfast.

"Huh?" Since when is sausage non-meat?

"I'm a vegetarian. I'll pick up some regular sausage on the way home."

You giggle slightly as I continue to poke the foreign object on my plate with my fork. I take another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Truthfully it's not that bad. I could definitely get used to it.

"It's not bad actually."

"Good, I'm glad you like it. Because I didn't relish the thought of having dead pig particles in my refrigerator."

We share a laugh as we continue our breakfast, each of us quite content to just be a normal couple for a little while.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

"Tell me we got something Warner," I say as I enter the lab.

Elliot and Melinda are already there when I arrive, talking quietly over a microscope.

"We got him Liv" Elliot looks to me, relief evident on his face.

"What?" Oh God, please tell me I heard him right.

"We got a hair off of the scrapbook, root and all," Elliot says, before looking to Warner to continue the explanation.

"Well, the scrapbook and the glue are generic. You can get them at every corner drug store in the city. But as I was removing the photos, I found a perfect hair fiber."

She takes a transparency of a DNA strand and places it up on the back lit display.

"Preliminary DNA hit on someone already in our system."

The anticipation is thick and my heart flutters rapidly as she turns the screen around so I can see the match.

"Son of a bitch."

I find myself staring at a mug shot of Stephen Murphy.

Relief floods in as I come to the realization that Casey's safe. But this is going to kill her. She was so sure that Murphy couldn't be capable of something like this. My hatred for the man gazing out from the computer screen doubles.

"I'm going to call Madeline for a search warrant of his apartment," Elliot says, pulling out his phone. He pauses a moment, looking to me.

"How are we going to tell Casey?"

"I don't know Elliot. I'll wait until after we execute the warrant. I want to be sure about this before I tell her."

He nods, agreeing, before moving away to call the ADA. A few moments later he returns and motions for me to follow him. Bidding farewell to Melinda, we walk out of the lab.

"She's going to meet us at the apartment with a search and an arrest warrant."

"Did you tell her to keep Casey out of the loop for the time being," I ask as I pray my partner is as thorough as I hope he is.

"Yeah, I told her, but she wasn't happy about it."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Elliot and I arrive at Stephen Murphy's apartment virtually moments before the new ADA.

"Your warrants Detectives," she says, holding the folded blue papers out to us as she strides down the hall.

Motioning for Madeline to move away from the door, Elliot and I take up position on either side with weapons drawn. I use my fist to bang loudly on the door.

"Stephen Murphy, this is the NYPD. Open the door!"

We listen for any indication of the apartment's occupant and hear none. Our eyes meet and Elliot moves out to kick the door open. After one well placed kick the door explodes inward and we follow, guns held out in front of us. Adrenaline rushes through my body, increasing my breathing and causing my heart to pound against my rib cage.

We clear the apartment rapidly. The little bastard isn't here.

"I'll start in the bedroom, you take the living room," Elliot asks as he returns his gun to it's shoulder holster.

Nodding my head briefly I move to the door to look for Madeline. She's standing not too far away, concern etched on her face.

"It's clear."

Madeline walks into the apartment, hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat, and gazes around taking in her surroundings. I get the feeling that she's mentally cataloging the apartments contents for later use.

"Liv!"

Rushing into the bedroom, I see Elliot holding a leather bound folder. Laying it out on the unmade bed, I begin to look through the contents. More pictures of Casey along with a typed schedule detailing her routines are the first thing that I notice.

Hatred, cold and overwhelming, burns in my stomach. I pull out a stack of Polaroids from the side pocket and nearly drop them in disgust. The photos are of Elli Richter in her last moments and they prove without a shadow of a doubt that Murphy is our perp.

"What the hell is going on here?"

I hear the enraged voice from the living room and in seconds my body is in motion. Everything else tags along for the ride as my hatred takes control of my body. Slamming into the unsuspecting man with the force of a freight train, I push him against the wall. Taking out my handcuffs, I turn him around a lot rougher than I should. I feel Elliot's presence behind me, but he does nothing to stop me as I slam the metal cuffs on Murphy's wrists.

"Stephen Murphy, you are under arrest for the murder of Elli Richter and the stalking of a New York City ADA under New York Penal Code 120.50."

I turn him around so I can look into his eyes.

"You have the right to remain silent . . . "

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 11**

"Here are your copies Ms. Novak."

I look up at the young woman from my mountain of paperwork. Sandy is a legal aide that I share with two other departments, but she always manages to get whatever I ask for in a timely manor.

"Thanks Sandy, how's school going?"

She's a third year law student at Columbia and I know how time consuming and stressful that can be so I try and offer her encouragement when I can.

"It's a nightmare!"

I grin because I remember all too well the sleepless nights of studying and writing case studies. Honestly, it's a wonder I didn't die from malnutrition in law school. Cheese pizza and Mt. Dew were pretty much the major components of my diet.

"Hang in there, it'll be over soon."

She smiles and tucks her unruly, curly blonde hair behind her ears.

"Not soon enough," she says, her tone teasing.

As she leaves my office I look back down at the motion I'm attempting to compose and the words blur together in a jumble of letters that vaguely resemble a word puzzle. The nights of poor sleep are catching up with me and I rub my eyes in an effort to stave off the tiredness that pulls at my body. A yawn catches me off-guard and I cover my mouth out of force of habit.

"We need to get you into bed early tonight counselor."

Your voice floats across my office from the doorway where you are standing. I'm not sure how long you've been standing there, but it couldn't have been long.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long," you answer as you take a seat in a chair across from my desk.

There is something wrong. Your face betrays your inner emotions. Eyes are the windows to the soul, or so they say. In your case, Olivia Benson, it's true. I can see every conflicting emotion flash through those lovely, chocolate brown eyes of your's and my heartbeat echoes in my ears in anticipation of what could have you so upset.

A part of me is terrified that someone we care about has been injured or worse. That comes with the territory when your adopted family consists of police officers. You grow to fear that unexpected knock on the door and the late night calls. Despite our short time together, that is already my greatest fear. I fear that one day, I'll wake up to that knock or call and find out that you won't be coming home.

"We caught him Casey," you say, your eyes downcast as you pick at a invisible piece of lint on your pants leg.

I should feel relief, but I don't. Your actions are frightening me and I wish you'd just tell me what's got you so upset.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Stephen," you say so quietly that I'm not even sure if I've heard you correctly.

I sit and stare at you, unable to speak, because I honestly have no words to describe what I want to say. Anger, confusion, hurt; they all fight for precedence in my mind.

"We got a DNA hit off of the last package he sent. Madeline got a warrant and we found evidence in his apartment that implicates him. He showed up during the search and we arrested him . . .," you lean forward propping your elbows on your knees, " . . . I'm so sorry Casey."

"What evidence?"

"Pictures, of you and Elli. A schedule that tracks your movements down to the minute."

Elli? Reality crashes upon me and I nearly drown in the force of it. Oh God, Stephen killed Elli. How could I have been so wrong about someone? It's my fault. Elli is dead because of me. Bile pushes at the back of my throat and I run from the office to the nearest restroom.

Falling to my knees on the hard floor of the stall, I expel my stomach contents in a violent rush that leaves tears running down my cheeks. Nausea surges through my body in waves and the gut wrenching wretches that result feel as if they are tearing me apart at the seams. After what seems like an eternity I stagger from the stall, weak from the ordeal, and find you leaning against the sinks. The compassion you offer sickens me once more and I nearly run back into the stall. I don't deserve your compassion, an innocent woman is dead because of me.

I turn on the tap and rinse my mouth in an attempt to rid myself of the acidic aftertaste.

"It's not your fault baby."

You wrap your arms around me from behind and I stiffen in preparation of pulling away. You must have sensed it, because you tighten your grip possessively.

"Casey, it's not your fault." Your voice is firm and it leaves no room for argument.

"Then why do I feel like this," I ask, finally turning into your embrace.

You give me no answer, because there is none.

Burying my face against your shoulder I let the tears flow and finally allow myself to cry without hesitation for the loss of Elli. Deep down, I know a part of me is crying for the loss of Stephen as well.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

By the time you and I arrive at the station, Elliot and Fin had already begun to question Stephen. The looks of sympathy I receive are unwanted, but I feign acceptance as I follow you into Capt. Cragen's office.

On the way over, I insisted on watching the questioning. You argued briefly, but backed down quickly after you realized the strength of my conviction.

Madeline, Capt. Cragen, and Dr. Huang are standing in front of the two way mirror listening to Elliot and Fin's 'bad cop/good cop routine'. Madeline is the first to notice our entrance.

"Casey, how are you," she asks as she briefly takes my hands and squeezes them in a show of support.

"I'm fine Madeline, thank you for everything you've done."

I'm not fine, I haven't been fine since I saw Elli's dead body last Friday night. Your hand is pressed against the small of my back, offering me a soothing bit of support that is my lifeline at this point.

"_You get off on stalking and terrifying innocent women Stephen?_" Elliot's voice filters through the office from the small speaker near the mirror.

"_I don't know what the hell you're talking about, I've never seen these pictures before!_"

Stephen's voice is high pitched and desperate as he pushes the photos back across the table towards Elliot. For a moment I honestly believe him.

"_Come on Stephen, you lost her and you couldn't handle it. If you tell us what happened maybe the judge will go easy on you._"

Fin manages to keep his voice soothing and sympathetic in his role as 'good cop'.

"_I'm not a murderer and I love Casey, I would NEVER hurt her._"

Elliot slaps the table in front of him and Stephen nearly jumps out of his chair. Despite everything that's happening, I still feel pity for him and I try to harden myself to the emotion the he still invokes.

"_You got a funny way of showing it Murphy. You leave dead bodies for all your old girlfriends?_"

"_Where is she? Just ask Casey!! She'll tell you that I wouldn't do this!_"

The anger rolling off of you is palpable and I'm suddenly glad that you aren't in the room with them. Stephen is so agitated that he's begun to pace around the interview room.

"_Is she behind the glass??_"

Suddenly he pounds his fists on the two-way mirror and I jump backwards involuntarily. Surprisingly it's not only your hand that I feel on my back. I look to my right and see Madeline gazing at me with compassion. I smile my thanks and she reciprocates. A moment of understanding passes between us and I feel as if we've reached a new plateau of friendship.

"_Casey!! Tell them! You know me . . ._," he screams as Elliot and Fin drag him backwards, away from the glass.

"I'm ready to go," I turn to you, desperate to escape this.

"I still have to do my arrest paperwork, I'll be a couple of hours."

I can see the regret and conflict on your face. I know you are torn between your duties and your concern for me.

Capt. Cragen speaks up from his station by the glass, "I'll take her home Olivia."

I follow you out to your desk and we just stare at each other for a moment, both of us relieved that this is over.

"I love you Casey."

"I love you too. See you later?"

"You bet."

With a final smile in your direction I follow Cragen out of the precinct.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

"Can you call off the protective detail," I ask the Capt. hopefully.

"Already done, I know you hated it." Cragen says offhandedly as he pulls to the curb in front of my building.

"Thank you Don."

He smiles and it strikes me as odd. I don't remember the last time I've seen this man smile.

"Anytime Casey, anytime."

Twilight is closing quickly on the city and a cold wind blows the long, powder blue coat I'm wearing away from my body as I rush into my building. With a quick wave to Jacob I start up the stairs, not really feeling like waiting on the elevator.

Once inside my apartment, I drop my briefcase beside the door and start to strip my coat off.

"Don't move." The voice is barely above a whisper, but it is familiar.

I suddenly feel a pressure against the side of my head and I know without a doubt that it's a gun. My body freezes in fear.

"Turn around slowly."

I slowly turn around, holding my hands out in front of me. Coming face to face with my assailant, my heart drops into my stomach as the facial features become clear in the dim light.

"You?" My voice is thick with disbelief.

They strike out with the gun, catching me in the side of the face. The last thing I see before my vision fades to black is the sadistic smile of an assailant that isn't Stephen Murphy.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 12**

I juggle the bottle of wine and Italian take-out I bought on the way to your apartment as I attempt to get the extra key you gave me out of my pocket. Anticipation of the evening to come makes me slightly giddy and I mentally go through my planned romantic ambush. The events of the last few days have left us both mentally and physically exhausted. Tonight, I hope to just leave all that behind us for a while and bask in the glow of our fledgling relationship. Now that you are safe, I look forward to focusing on making you happy instead of spending all my waking moments worrying about how to keep you safe.

Stephen Murphy is on his way to Rikers and I push any thoughts of the inevitable trial out of my head. We've got him dead to rights and I have every confidence that Madeline will nail that little bastard to the wall, metaphorically of course. The new ADA has turned out to be a competent and extremely compassionate attorney and I'm secretly happy that she'll take some of the stress of your immense case load off of your shoulders.

As I push the door open, I find it odd that the lights are off, but I quickly push any fears from my mind and decide that you must be napping. You did look tired when you left the station. Quietly I push the door closed and cross to the kitchen table to relieve myself of my purchases. I sneak into the bedroom intent on waking you and immediately shiver in the face of the cold draft coming from the room.

The movement of the curtains blowing outwards from the wall sets my heart to pounding and my eyes are drawn to the empty bed. I flip on the lights and the empty room is illuminated in the harsh glow. Continuing to try and rationalize what I'm seeing I approach the window and stop abruptly as I hear something crunch under my feet. As I pull the curtains away to reveal the broken window the last bit of hope harbored slides away and I realize that something is terribly wrong.

Walking back into the living room with my respiration and pounding heartbeat echoing in my ears I finally notice the outline of your briefcase beside the door. The light filtering from the bedroom illuminates a dark spot on the floor and silently I pray that it's not what I think it is. Carefully edging around it, I turn on the overhead light and my composure finally shatters.

Blood, stark in contrast to the light wood floors, is pooled a mere few feet in front of the door. Hot tears flood my eyes and spill over my cheeks. Bloody footprints lead from the puddle to the bedroom and I look down at my boots and realize that they are mine. Cursing myself for being so stupid, my knees weaken and I lean against the wall, before sliding down it into a sitting position on the floor.

The soul crushing knowledge that I've failed to protect you yet again is an overwhelming presence in my mind. I mechanically remove my cell phone and dial Elliot's number from memory.

He picks up and I hear the music and loud voices of O'Malley's in the background.

"_Stabler_."

"She's gone. I lost her . . ."

My voice is dead and I barely recognize it.

"_Where are you Olivia?_"

"Casey's. I need you Elliot." I close the phone before I hear his response.

Sobs wrack my body and the phone slips from my grasp as I drop my head forward onto my knees. Flashes of the night you were attacked in your office provide a slide show in my mind that only serves to increase my self-loathing. With Stephen in jail, I thought it was over, I was so damn sure he was our guy. The evidence practically provided a flashing arrow to the front door of his apartment. Someone, who obviously wanted all our attention on Stephen, watched and waited until we let our guard down and then played us all for fools.

I sit on the floor for what seems like hours before the sobs finally subside and I sit staring at my bloody boots numbly. It doesn't even register with me that it's your blood and I briefly wonder if I'm going into shock. A knock rings through the empty apartment and I glance at the door.

"It's open," I yell, assuming it's Elliot.

The door opens and within a few seconds my partner is at my side. I look up into his eyes and then over to the blood unable to find my voice.

"I know, I see it. What happened?" His voice is gentle and soft.

I stare at him owlishly, blinking a few times.

"Liv, what happened," he asks, his voice still soft but slightly more demanding.

Tears spill again from my eyes and I feel the pressure behind my eyes begin to climb once more.

"It's my fault. I should've been here," I manage to push out between violent sobs that threaten to steal my breath.

Elliot's face is tense with conflicting emotions and I get the feeling that he's weighing his desire to console me against the desire to learn what I know.

"You've got to calm down and tell me what happened Olivia." Obviously his concern for Casey won out over consoling his blubbering partner.

I take several gulping breaths and try to get myself under control.

"She was gone when I got here, window in the bedroom is broken," I attempt to keep it simple.

"Alright, stay right here," he says before rising and pulling out his radio.

He walks away from me and I hear him softly talking to the dispatcher, giving them a description of you and telling them that you're an ADA.

"CSU's on the way," he returns and offers me his hand.

After a moment, I allow him to help me up from the floor. Numbness settles over me with a vengeance and I feel absolutely nothing. In a small way, I am thankful for that.

"We'll find her."

I want to believe him, I really do. I want to believe that you're okay and that you'll be back in my arms soon, but my experience tell's me differently. We have absolutely no leads and it's a big city.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

The throbbing in my head increases as I gradually claw my way towards consciousness. I open my eyes and a brief moment of confusion clouds my mind as I take in unfamiliar surroundings. The side of my head feels wet and sticky and I realize that it must be blood.

I panic for a moment, pulling at the handcuffs that anchor my arms behind me and to the chair I'm sitting in. After moments of futile struggling, I stop, the dizziness from the abrupt movement causing me to close my eyes and wait for the room to stop spinning.

"I see that you're finally awake Casey."

I strain my eyes in an attempt to see the shadowy figure lurking at the edge of the unfinished, dimly lit room. The room I'm in is large and I realize that it's a loft of some kind. It looks to be in the process of being remodeled because there are ladders and plastic drop clothes littering the floor.

"Where am I," I ask and my voice sounds even coarser than usual.

A short laugh echoes in the empty room and it sends chills up my spin.

"Somewhere safe, away from that bitch cop." Oh God, Olivia. I wonder if she knows what's happened yet.

"Why," I implore my tormentor, desperate to know what I've done to deserve this.

"Because you're mine."

The twisted declaration is sickening and I renew my struggles against the unyielding metal of the handcuffs. My wrists throb, already raw from my efforts, but I ignore the pain. Driven by pure fear I struggle until my vision blurs and I black out, once again falling into blissful oblivion.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

CSU techs swarm through the apartment, but I barely notice their presence. The night is passing in a blur and I sink further into the couch, attempting to disappear. Elliot won't let me do anything, he comes by every few minutes to check on me before going back to barking orders at the various people milling around.

I know this must be affecting him too, but the cop in him is in full swing.

"Oh Jesus." The shocked voice causes me to look towards the doorway where it came from.

Madeline is standing there in jeans and a sweat shirt, her face pale as she stares down at the blood on the floor. She walks around the spot, giving it a wide berth, before coming towards me.

"Olivia, I just heard. God, I'm so sorry," her voice is laden with sincere concern.

"Do we know anything yet," she asks as she sits down on the couch next to me.

"Window was broken from the fire escape. Perp was probably waiting on her to get home." My tears have long since dried and I feel like an empty shell.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, we'll get this guy."

I allow a small, insincere smile to form on my lips. All of the sympathy is starting to annoy me and a small spark of the old Olivia flares to life in response.

"What about Murphy," I ask, changing the subject.

"I'm not dropping the charges until I have some concrete exculpatory evidence. He may not be responsible for Casey's disappearance, but I'd still like to have an explanation for the evidence we recovered."

I shake my head, agreeing with her.

"Are we going to go public on this? A missing ADA is going to draw some press." She looks as if she didn't want to ask the question, but I understand why she did.

"I haven't even thought about it, I don't know. Before we do, I have to notify her family."

Dread sits in my stomach like a lead ball as I think about making that call. I don't know much about your relationship with your parents, but regardless they need to know. Them finding out when this hits the press is not acceptable to me.

Madeline nods her head curtly.

"I'll call Branch and we'll try to keep this under wraps until then."

"Thanks."

"No problem. I'm going to go talk with Detective Stabler. Are you going to be okay?"

No, I'm not. My heart has been ripped out of my chest and I feel almost dead inside.

"I'll be fine."

Madeline gets up and squeezes my shoulder briefly before going off in search of Elliot.

After what seems like hours, I find myself alone in your apartment. The blood has been cleaned up, but I can still see it. I walk slowly into your bedroom. Elliot had CSU board the broken window up before he left and the plywood looks horribly out of place against the pale green walls. I move over to the bed and sit down on the hunter green down comforter before hugging your pillow close to my chest. It still smells of your perfume and as I lay down and close my eyes I try and imagine that it's actually you that I'm holding.

I try and convince myself that it will all be okay and that we'll find you safe and sound. I need to believe that right now, because I don't know if I can survive without you . . .

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf. I'm just borrowing them, I may return them . . . at some point. :)

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters. **This chapter is a little darker than usual folks, be warned**.

**Chapter 13**

I mechanically walk into the 1-6, still numb from the previous nights events. A night of fitful sleep left me with a splitting headache that only adds to my misery.

"Olivia . . .," Munch's voice is questioning and I know they think I shouldn't be here.

I glance at him, but provide him with no explanation as to why I'm here. In my mind none is needed. Casey is missing and I'm going to find her, it's that simple.

"Anything new," I ask, attempting to make my intentions clear.

Munch stares at me for a beat, before his face reflects acceptance and understanding.

"No, nothing yet."

Nodding my head, I move off to my desk and sit down to check my messages. I tried to call Casey's parents this morning, but got no answer. I left my work number for them and though it invokes massive guilt, I hope that they have not returned my call. Telling them that I screwed up and allowed a stalker to kidnap their daughter is not something that I look forward to.

Unfortunately, a check of my voice mail reveals a call from a very worried sounding Nikolas Novak. Sighing heavily, I try to work up what courage I have left as I ascend the stairs to the balcony that overlooks the bullpen.

I dial the number slowly, fighting my desire to hang up with each button I push. The line clicks and is silent briefly before the ringing starts.

"_Hello?_" The fear in his voice practically reaches through the phone.

"Mr. Novak? This is Detective Olivia Benson with the NYPD. I work with your daughter," I say in a rush of words that I hope the worried man understood.

"_What's happened?_"

His anguish threatens to renew the flow of tears from my eyes.

"She's missing, sir. I'm so sorry, but I promise you that I will personally do everything in my power to find her." That statement is made with absolute honesty and I try to convey that through the phone.

Casey's father is silent for several seconds before he speaks again, "_how?_"

"Um . . . from what we can tell, the suspect was waiting on her when she got home last night."

I choose not to tell him about the blood, he doesn't need to know that.

"_My wife and I will take the first flight we can get out of Virginia_."

"There's no need yet Mr. Novak . . ."

"_Call me Nikolas,_" he says and it vaguely sounds like an order.

"Nikolas, there's no need yet. I'll keep you completely informed and let you know when we have something concrete."

I really don't think I could deal with Casey's family right now, in addition to everything else. I hear him take a breath and for a moment he seems ready to argue.

"_Alright, but I expect to be kept in the loop Detective Benson_," he says and his voice holds a slight threatening undertone that surprises me.

"Absolutely."

After another few moments of conversation, I bid farewell to Casey's father and replace the phone in the cradle. Tears are freely running down my face now and I wipe them away, annoyed with myself for sitting up here crying when I should be figuring out how to find her.

A noise from behind me startles me and I jump involuntarily before turning around. Capt. Cragen is standing behind me giving me the 'daddy' look and I know I'm not going to like whatever he's here to say.

"You shouldn't be here Olivia," he starts.

"With all do respect Captain, I'm not going anywhere." I stare at him intensely.

We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before he nods and turns to go back downstairs. I think he realized that he needs to pick his battles and that this was one he could not win.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The acrid scent of ammonia pulls me back into consciousness once more and I immediately notice that my position has changed. Instead of the uncomfortable chair I sat in before, I am now laying down on a bare mattress with my hands handcuffed to the frame above my head. Despite the increased level of comfort, I shudder in fear at the implications of my movement.

My captor is seated on the bed next to me, still holding the broken ammonia capsule.

"I've moved you so you'll be more comfortable." The voice that has grown so familiar over the last few days is virtually devoid of any of the emotion that characterized it previously.

The sticky blood on the side of my face and head has now dried and is causing my skin to itch. Slowly, so as not to startle my assailant, I attempt to move my head closer to my shackled hands to scratch.

"Here, let me help."

A wet cloth is applied to my face and the blood is slowly wiped away. My eyes widen a bit in shock when I see the newly reddened cloth. I had not realized there was so much blood, though I know scalp wounds bleed profusely.

"There isn't that better Casey?"

The tender actions of my captor are a sickening mockery in my mind, but I nod my head anyway. There's no need to draw undue aggression yet.

My head is still pounding and I'm almost positive that I have at least a moderate concussion. My softball career has taught me to recognize them well. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can't avoid that softball flying at your head.

"What day is it," I ask, unsure how long I've been unconscious.

"Early Wednesday morning."

So it's been less than a day. Seems longer for some reason. Olivia must know by now, she'll find me. I have faith in her abilities.

"Why are you keeping me here?" I attempt to keep my voice as strong as possible, despite the fear coursing through my veins.

"I can't trust you anymore Casey. Every time I turned around you'd taken up with some new whore," the voice is bitter and hard now.

"First it was that blonde bimbo, then Olivia. She's not even close to being good enough for you, you know that don't you?"

There have been others, I don't know why the focus is concentrated on Elli and Olivia. Suddenly my fear for my own safety is overshadowed by the fear that this psycho's already done something to Olivia.

"Please tell me you didn't hurt her. . .," I plead.

The backhanded slap is unexpected and it splits my bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.

"You'd do well to just forget about her. You're with me now."

The simple statement renews my terror and I consider screaming for help. Surely someone could hear? One look at the figure still sitting beside me on the bed causes me to rethink that strategy. The look on her face is positively evil and the menace dancing in her eyes is terrifying.

"I have something for you," she says as she leans over the edge of the bed to retrieve the aforementioned object.

At first, I can't tell what she's holding. Straining my eyes, I gradually make out the small object in her hands. It's a hypodermic needle. I begin to struggle as she comes nearer and she eventually straddles my upper chest in an effort to control me. Absolute and primal panic cause me to gasp loudly for oxygen as I feel my sleeve being lifted and the tip of the needle touch my skin. I don't know what she's trying to give me, but whatever it is, I'm sure I don't want it. A small prick, followed by a burning sensation that travels up my arm, and I realize that the injection is already complete.

"You'll start feeling that soon."

The drug courses through my body and I rack my brain, trying to figure out what it could be. My vision starts to blur and I'm sure that it's from the unknown drug and not the head injury this time. The more I attempt to struggle, the less my muscles cooperate, until I'm laying on the bed practically unable to move at all.

Oh God, I know these symptoms. I've heard more rape victims than I can count recount this feeling. Rohypnol.

My attacker is back and my mind screams for action, but my body does not obey. I feel my shirt being undone and tears start to roll down my face. The one thing I feared becoming, a rape victim, is about to become a reality. My mind continues to fight against the violation as I feel my pants being pulled away from my nearly useless body.

"Why are you doing this Madeline," my voice is slurred and barely recognizable.

The ADA smiles down at me, a hideous action that will haunt me forever.

"Because I can . . ."

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 14**

My nude body aches from the abuse, but it is not as troubling as the agony in my chest that has nothing to do with my physical injuries. The attack is only present in disorganized flashes that flicker in my mind and I'm not sure what's real and what isn't. The Rohypnol is preventing me from recalling most of what happened and what I do recall is surrealistic and dream-like. The inability to reconcile my memory with what the various bruises on my body tell me occurred is perhaps the cruelest part of Madeline's violation. At some point, I must have lost consciousness because I woke up not long ago and it felt as if I were clawing my way through mud on my journey to wakefulness.

"I was beginning to wonder if I'd given you too much."

I had not realized that she was still here and my body freezes, rabbit-like, as she walks from the shadows so prevalent in the poorly lit room. A whimper of fear escapes my lips when I feel her sit on the mattress. She makes no move to touch me, instead she simply stares, an unreadable expression on her face. The impulse to cover myself from her probing eyes is hampered by my bound wrists.

"Are you cold? I could get you a blanket," she says, reaching out to push my hair back from my face.

I shrink back violently from her touch, every fiber of my being screaming for escape.

"Really Casey, I thought we had such fun." Her tone is condescending and it infuriates me.

I grasp desperately onto that anger and cling to it like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver. The anger clears my mind and the last remnants of the drug-induced haze begin to slip away.

"Don't . . . fucking . . . touch . . . me."

I try and focus all my hatred and rage for her in that one sentence.

Madeline pulls away as if I've physically slapped her and I mentally rejoice at the look of hurt that crosses her face. I want her to hurt, to feel the same crushing pain that's seated itself firmly on my chest and refused to let up.

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Help me!? You really are one sick bitch." My voice drips with vehemence and I use my hatred like a shield.

The ADA's face twists in rage and she is on me in seconds, her hand firmly grasping my throat. She squeezes my airway until only a tiny trickle of oxygen is reaching my lungs. Her face is literally inches from my own and I can smell the sweet scent of mint on her breath.

"This _sick bitch_ can kill you anytime she wants. It would be in your best interests to remember that Casey."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"_Police continue their search this evening for Casey Novak, the missing New York City ADA. Ms. Novak was apparently taken from her apartment late last night and sources inside the police department are telling us that the NYPD investigators currently have no leads in this matter . . ."_

I turn the small television off and toss the remote in disgust. It didn't take long for this to hit the press and the local networks are already staked out in front of the DA's office, just waiting for any tidbit of new information. It was the same when Alex 'died', the press jumped on it like a pack of wild dogs.

"Hey Liv, have you eaten today," Elliot asks as he sits a cup of coffee on my desk.

He's clutching a white bag from the deli down the street.

"I'm not hungry."

Sitting the bag on his desk, he begins to pull out various food items that I assume are his dinner. I look down at the sandwich he places in front of me and my stomach practically closes up shop and runs away at the prospect of eating it.

"Eat," he says before looking down at the wrapped sandwich and then back to me.

"El . . .," I start to argue.

"You're not going to help Casey if you get sick Olivia. Now, eat."

Tentatively I pull the wrapper away from the chicken salad sandwich. I don't feel like arguing with him. I feel like a weak and faded shell of what I was only a day ago. Your disappearance extinguished the fire that's always driven my actions and I'm left feeling cold and lost in it's absence. Maybe if I just take a few bites he'll back off and leave me alone.

"Benson, Stabler. Let's go."

Captain Cragen looks at us expectantly.

"Where," Elliot asks.

"Branch called a press conference in an hour, he wants us there."

Thankful that I don't have to eat it, I wrap the sandwich back up and return it to Elliot's bag. As I settle into my coat my mind wanders and I wonder where you are and what's happening to you. Thousands of images, born of my exposure to psychos of every shape and size, flood my unwilling mind and I try to push them back out again. I can't think of that now. I'm barely holding on as it is and if I continue to entertain the thoughts of what you could be experiencing I know without a doubt that I'll lose it.

The press conference is being held in the press room at the DA's office and Elliot and I are positioned in the crowd looking for anyone suspicious. Dr. Huang is also here among the reporters, scanning the crowd with knowledgeable eyes. Everyone knows that psychos of all flavors like to observe the results of their work and we all hold onto a small amount of hope that we'll get lucky.

Branch steps up to the microphone and taps it a couple of times, signifying the beginning of the press conference. Madeline is standing to the DA's right and Captain Cragen is stationed to his left.

"If everyone could just direct their attention up here for a moment, I'll make this brief and then take some questions. Assistant District Attorney Casey Novak disappeared at approximately 8pm last night from her apartment. There was evidence of foul play and we're currently investigating that avenue. Manhattan SVU and the DA's office are throwing every resource into finding out who's responsible for this and bringing her home safely. Now, I have time for a few questions."

The press all begin tossing questions out at once and Branch finally points to a middle-aged man near the front.

"Is there any evidence that this is somehow related to her position as an ADA?"

"We have no evidence of that," he dismisses the man in his thick southern accent before pointing to a female reporter.

"Is it true that a suspect was arrested and later released?"

Branch looks back to Capt. Cragen before answering.

"I'm going to let Captain Cragen with Manhattan SVU take that question."

Cragen steps up to the podium as Branch falls back to stand beside Madeline.

"Yes, a person of interest was brought in and later released when it was determined that he had no involvement."

The press erupts with questions once more. Most of them about the status of the investigation and whether or not we've received any correspondence from the perpetrator.

"I'm not going to comment on any aspects of the ongoing investigation at this time. However, I would like to ask anyone that may have any information to contact the Manhattan SVU Crime Line. Thank you for your time."

Cragen steps away from the podium, effectively ending the press conference and I start to walk towards them. By the time I get there, Branch and Madeline are already making their escape back into the non-public areas of the DA's office with Cragen in tow.

I follow them through the door with Elliot following closely behind. Madeline sees us and breaks away from the Capt. and the DA to head our way.

"See anyone," Madeline asks, raising a delicately shaped eyebrow.

"Nothing. Elliot?" I turn to stare at my partner.

"Same here, I didn't see anyone out in the crowd. Maybe Huang had better luck."

Elliot crams his hands in the pockets of his dark wool coat and walks away from the ADA and I, presumably to go find Dr. Huang. I turn back to the tall woman beside me. She's dressed in a black 'power suit' today, with a black silk shirt under the blazer and black boots that increase her height to at least six feet. All of the black in her attire, paired with the black hair, is quite intimidating and I wonder if that's the look she was going for.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day," I say, looking up at the attorney.

Anger clouds her blue eyes for a split second before she wrestles it away.

"I had some things to take care of Detective. What did you need," she asks, annoyance evident in her tone.

Her reaction shocks me. This is the first time I've seen this woman show any form of anger or annoyance. Her normally calm presence radiates a hint of danger that makes me step back from her.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just under a lot of stress. Did you need something Olivia," she asks.

I notice a marked difference in her body language as she shifts back to the Madeline I'm used to before my eyes.

"Um . . . no, not anymore. I took care of it," I reply and I know my voice sounds a bit strange, but there's just something not quite right about her today that I can't ignore. I briefly wonder if she knows something that I don't.

"Good, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

With that she spins on her heel and walks down the hall, her boots clicking against the marble floors causing a loud echo that reverberates throughout the hallway. I stare at her retreating form for a while, trying to assimilate the new insights I've gained about her into my mind.

"Huang says he didn't notice anything either," Elliot interrupts my mental musings as he strolls up beside me.

"What's up?" He looks at me strangely, immediately picking up on my unease.

"Oh, nothing really . . .," I start before being interrupted once more, this time by a returning Captain Cragen.

"Olivia, Elliot."

The look on his face causes my heart to stall and immediately I know that something is horribly wrong. He looks down at his feet before speaking again.

"Munch just called from the house, they found a body in Central Park matching Casey's description."

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 15**

I can't breath. I can't think. I can't see. 'Body matching Casey's description' is all it took to pound what's left of my spirit into submission and the world swirls around me in a jumble of images and sounds, but none of them make sense. Four little words that threaten to change my life forever.

I have yet to let myself consider the very real possibility that you won't come home to me. Cragen's words force me to face that reality with a vengeance and I nearly choke on the pain that results. Somewhere in my subconscious I feel Elliot's hands on my shoulders and I know that they are both speaking to me. I barely hear their words, but I try to focus on them.

"Olivia!" Elliot's voice sounds far away and faint.

"Olivia!" He's shaking me now and that serves to pull me back from the abyss that is dragging me downwards.

Finally, able to see once more I look up into my partner's stormy grey-blue eyes.

"Listen to me, Olivia. It's not her until there's positive ID," he says, his voice firm but gentle as if he senses that it wouldn't take much to send me spiraling back down into the abyss.

I nod my head weakly and allow myself to be led out to the car, supported on either side by Elliot and Capt. Cragen. The ride to the park is silent, each of us coping with the impending scene in our own way.

The crime scene is secluded and well off the beaten path in one of the tree filled areas of the park that offer prime dumping grounds for bodies. As I numbly maneuver my way down the steep slope from the jogging path I silently recite, 'it's not her', over and over in my head as if I could change the victims identity through sheer force of will.

A middle-aged male detective that I don't recognize sees the three of us approaching and moves away from the group he was with to intercept us. I can't see the body yet, it's still hidden behind some trees. The fight between my desire to know and the escapist that just wants to run and hide, but never look, rages onwards as I look to the approaching man.

"You Captain Cragen," the man asks in an overbearing Brooklyn accent.

"Yes. These are two of my Detectives, Benson and Stabler," the Captain turns to indicate us.

"I'm Detective Conner with Homicide."

"Any positive ID yet?" I catch the strain in Cragen's voice.

"Not sure, vic's gotta city ID, but we can't match the face with picture. It's too messed up."

The Detective extends his hand and I notice the black leather wallet he's holding out to the Captain. I watch numbly as Cragen slips on gloves before he opens the ID. He noticeably exhales before handing the ID to Elliot and I try to urge my legs into motion, but they are frozen to the ground I stand on.

Elliot turns to me with that look that I've come to recognize so well and I know who the ID belongs to without looking at it.

"Liv . . .," he extends the wallet to me and I force my heavy arm to take it.

I open the badge wallet slowly, still holding onto that last little glimmer of hope. The metallic glint of the ADA badge catches my eyes first, before I allow them to travel to photo ID. Your face smiles out at me from the little plastic card. Blood has seeped into the crevices on the badge, standing out in stark contrast to the golden metal object.

My legs are suddenly in motion, driving me towards the body with ever increasing speed. I hear Elliot yelling from behind me but I don't stop, I have to know, I have to see your face. Rounding the last clump of bushes in my way, the sight before me crushes my resolve. Brilliant red hair that still sparkles in the late evening sun and a powder blue coat that I know oh so well assault my vision and again I hear the abyss calling.

Somehow, I sense Elliot's presence behind me and I clutch your ID tightly in my hand before turning to look at him.

"I can't Elliot. I thought I could . . . but I can't," I manage to say.

He nods his head silently and starts towards the body. My knees weaken and I sink to the ground as I watch him turn the body in question over. He lingers, staring at the face for what seems like an eternity, before he speaks.

"It's not her, Liv! It's not her," he shouts and I can plainly hear the relief in every word.

His statement renews my hope as I push myself up from the cold ground. I push myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk to the body in question. Looking down at the face, even through the bruises and lacerations, it's plain to see that it isn't you. I send a small prayer of thanks out to whomever's listening and slide into my well worn work persona. Relief floods my body and I find myself feeling slightly guilty that I'm so happy. Someone, even if it wasn't you, lost their life and I know I should feel more remorse about that . . . but I don't.

"What the hell . . .," Elliot says, as he pulls folded white card from the coat's inner pocket.

Opening it, he stares at it for a moment before handing it to me.

"Sick son of a bitch." His voice drips with the disgust I feel.

The card's message is written in the same black, flowing script I've come to dread.

_Gotcha_.

"He's playing with us Elliot."

Elliot sighs and nods his head as he stands up.

"Olivia, you see what I see," he asks quietly and I follow his gaze to the stand of trees across the clearing.

A homeless man stands partially hidden behind a large oak, watching our every move with intensity. Noticing our stares he fumbles around nervously for a moment, before turning to run.

"Shit."

Both of us spring into action running after him. We gain some ground on the man and Elliot swings out to cut him off. I leap the park bench bordering the trail like a track star and pour on the speed, forcing the man in Elliot's direction. Elliot pops out of the trees a few feet a head of us and the man collides into a Stabler-shaped brick wall before falling backwards on his ass.

"Please, leave me alone! I didn't do anything," the man yells, scrambling backwards from Elliot, straight into me.

He looks up at me and then back to Elliot fearfully.

"Why were you watching us," I ask, my voice hard and demanding.

"I can't! I can't tell you, she said she'd kill me," he yells and curls into a small ball on the pavement.

She? He said she, could it be possible that we've been wrong all along?

"We can protect you if you just tell us what you saw." Elliot kneels down to the mans level and speaks to the him like you'd speak to a terrified child.

"Promise?"

"We promise we'll keep you safe from her."

I'm growing impatient with this interaction, but I allow Elliot to continue building rapport with the man, fully aware that I'm not thinking clearly right now.

"I was looking for cans in the bushes, cause most people don't think to look there, they just look along the paths. I saw her leave that poor woman there," he says nervously, constantly fidgeting and looking around.

"When did you see this," Elliot prompts.

"Um . . . earlier today. Afternoon, I think?"

"Could you give us a description of the woman if we put you with a sketch artist," I ask, attempting to keep the urgency and impatience out of my voice.

The man looks at me with wide frightened eyes before turning back to Elliot and nodding.

Elliot extends his hand, helping the man up from the pavement. I notice that he keeps a tight grip on the smaller man's arm as we start back towards the scene of the crime. About half way back, we meet up with Capt. Cragen.

"We got a witness, Cap."

Cragen looks the man up and down, taking in the filthy and worn clothing.

"Can he give us a description," he asks.

I nod, then look back to the frightened man that is my only link to finding you at this point.

"Can we set him up in a hotel with a uniform? Perp threatened him if he talked."

Cragen nods and begins to lead the man away. After a couple of steps, he stops, and looks back at us both.

"Go home, both of you. I'll make some calls and get a sketch artist up to the precinct, but I want you both to go get some rest . . . you look like hell."

Elliot and I both step forward to argue.

"That's an order. I'll call you if we get anything," he says, before turning and walking away with the witness, effectively ending any further arguments.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at my mind, begging me to rest, the Captain's order still angers me. How he thinks I can sleep when I know that you're still out there somewhere is beyond me.

"Come on, Liv. We can go to my place." Elliot doesn't sound any happier than I am about this but I reluctantly follow him up to the street to hail a cab, considering Cragen took the car.

A short cab ride later we find ourselves in Elliot's living room. Stripping our coats, I head to the couch and practically fall onto it in exhaustion.

"Want a beer," he asks, heading towards the small fridge.

"Sure," I reply. Anything to dull the pain.

Moments later, a cold bottle of beer appears in front of my face and I take it gratefully. I take a long drink that drains half of the bottle.

"Whoa there partner, take it easy."

I look at Elliot for a minute before looking back down to the half-empty bottle. The label offers a welcomed distraction and I start to methodically pull it from the bottle in long shreds.

"We're going to find her Olivia . . .," he promises, placing his hand on my forearm to stop the label mutilation.

Tears pool in my eyes and spill over to run down my cheeks in jagged lines.

"What if we don't Elliot?"

He silently takes the bottle from my hand and places it on the table next to his own. I allow myself to be pulled against him and I wrap my arms around his waist, taking comfort in the solid strength he projects. Allowing the tears full reign, I cry freely in his arms.

He says nothing, only strokes my hair gently as my sobs echo off the walls of the small apartment.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: As usual, they belong to Dick Wolf. I'm just borrowing them, I may return them . . . at some point. :) Ah hell, who am I kidding?! They're mine, mine I tell ya! MWAHAHAHA.

Oops, sorry, temporary moment of insanity.

**Warnings**: Femslash. Story will deal with sexual violence and it's aftermath in later chapters.

**Chapter 16**

The shrill sound of Elliot's cell phone awakens me from the fitful sleep I'd fallen into. The feel of another person next to me confuses me for a moment, then I remember crying in my partner's arms when we returned from the crime scene last night. I must have fallen asleep, because we're both still here on the couch and I'm still laying across Elliot's lap.

"Hello," Elliot's sleep deepened voice answers from above me.

I lay and listen to the one-sided conversation, trying to glean some information from what I'm hearing.

"We're on our way Cap," he says before closing the cell phone and placing his hand on my shoulder to gently shake me awake.

"I'm awake, Elliot."

Sitting up, I drag my hands through my hair and attempt to rub the last bit of fatigue from my eyes.

"They got a sketch from our witness."

Hope blooms in my heart and I look around, attempting to find a clock.

"It's just after 6 AM, Liv," he says, understanding what I'm looking for before I even speak.

We have that kind of relationship. I'm not sure anyone can really fully understand how close we are. Especially once we make it clear that we're not sleeping together. Elliot and I share a mutual love and understanding that makes us almost as close as two people can possibly be. Perhaps it's because we know each other's demons so intimately. I don't know what it is. All I know is that I could not survive without him.

Even Kathy had her doubts about the platonic nature of our relationship, especially at first. It took Elliot and I sitting down and finally telling her that I was gay before she stopped looking at me with suspicion. I still think she was jealous of our closeness. Elliot shared things with me that he never shared with his ex-wife and I'm pretty sure she still hates me for that. But can you really blame us? We see the worst of what the world has to offer together. How could you seriously want to burden someone who doesn't understand what we do with that kind of darkness? I couldn't.

Maybe that's why Casey and I have fallen so hard, so fast. She understands darkness and evil. It's her job to put them away once we catch them. I can share my demons with her, because she's already intimately familiar with them herself.

Some people carry that dark shadow over their soul, like us, but most don't and it's impossibly cruel to expose those who don't know what evil is to that darkness. That's why Elliot and Kathy's marriage didn't work out. He couldn't bring himself to share his shadows with her and I don't blame him for that.

"Thank you Elliot," I say, before leaning in to place a small kiss on his cheek.

"Anytime."

That's all we really needed to say. Sometimes there are no words needed. Our eyes convey all that needs to be said.

"I'm going to go freshen up," I say as I get up from the couch and head towards his bathroom.

"Hey, can you call the lab and see what they got off of our Jane Doe?"

He nods and I disappear into the small bathroom to attempt and make myself somewhat presentable. I can change at the station. I always keep extra clothes and a toiletry kit there in my locker. But until then, I should at least make sure my hair's not sticking in a million directions at once.

After doing what I could without toiletries, I leave the bathroom. Elliot is just closing his cell phone and from the smile decorating his face, I'd say we got something.

"She's getting careless Olivia," he says, approaching me.

"What about the blood?" Please don't let it be Casey's.

"DNA's not back yet, but the blood around the collar of the coat and suit matched Casey's type. The rest of it belongs to the vic." He moves into the restroom to clean up as we talk.

Relief floods my consciousness.

"Lab got some strange trace evidence off the coat though. Gypsum dust and paint chips," he says around the tooth brush currently crammed in his mouth.

"Gypsum dust? Isn't that in drywall?"

He nods.

"So what are we looking at? Maybe a construction site of some kind . . .," I say, thinking out loud.

"Could be. Let me change clothes and we'll go."

I continue to think about the trace evidence as he disappears into his bedroom and pushes the door shut. We're getting so close. I only hope the sketch can shed more light on the subject.

Less than hour later we walk into a squad room bustling with early morning activity. Cragen is standing with Fin and John, talking quietly.

"Olivia, Elliot. My office," he says, already moving in that direction.

As soon as I enter he hands me the sketch and I find myself staring at the sheet of paper in shock. The face looking back at me looks very familiar and my pulse quickens as the pieces of the puzzle start to click together.

"Elliot, who does that look like to you," I ask and hand him the sheet of paper.

He takes it, staring at it for a moment, before he looks back up at me in shock.

"Madeline Forbes. Holy shit."

I nod my head, unable to speak, as I think of all the times I've been so close to this woman and had no idea. Anger blooms violently at the thought.

"Let's not jump to conclusions people. A sketch is not enough to go after an ADA. We got anything from the lab yet," Cragen asks, looking first at Elliot, then me.

"Yeah, they got gypsum dust and paint chips off the clothes. Some of the blood matched Casey's type, but the rest came from the Jane Doe."

A knock on the door interrupts us and Munch sticks his head in.

"I called Branch. Forbes didn't show up for work this morning. . ."

I'm nearly blinded by rage at this point.

". . . Branch also said that she requested the transfer from Brooklyn Homicide to SVU."

The Captain sighs loudly and stuffs his hands in the pants pockets of his drab brown suit.

"Okay people. Let's start pulling her records," he pauses and looks to Munch, "you and Fin start with the DA's records."

Munch nods his head once and disappears through the door.

"Olivia, Elliot. Why don't you pull her financials, see if we can get a handle on where she may have gone."

We leave the small office and head out to start making calls and pulling computer records. It's all I can do to control my anger for Madeline Forbes. How could we have been so stupid? She was right there, under our noses the entire time and we had no idea. Forbes made us all look like fools and I think we're all feeling the sting of betrayal. God help her if she's hurt Casey, because nothing short of divine intervention will be able to stop me from killing her if she has.

After a couple of hours of staring at financials, I feel as if my head is going to explode. It's one of those headaches that starts behind the eyes and spreads out from there. I'm not sure if it's from stress or staring at a computer screen for two hours straight, but either way it's making it difficult to concentrate. I run my hands over my face, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, willing the throbbing to subside.

"Liv, I think I got something," Elliot says from his desk.

My eyes pop open in excitement, the pain forgotten temporarily, as I get up and move around his desk. I lean over his shoulder, bracing myself on the back of his chair, as I squint and try to make out what he's pointing to on the screen.

"She inherited a loft in Tribeca last year when her parent's died," he says, tapping the tax records displayed on the screen with his finger.

My brain integrates the new information.

"Did you pull her credit card statements," I ask, holding my breath.

Elliot grins arrogantly and nods his head.

"Two down payments to a remodeling company a couple of months ago."

The final piece clicks into place and I realize that we've got her.

"The gypsum . . .," I start.

"We've got her," Elliot states as he gets up to grab the printed records of the printer.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

My tactical vest provides a comforting weight on my shoulders as I lean against the wall outside Forbes' loft, my gun drawn and pointed at the ground. I watch nervously, my breathing quick and shallow, as the small four man SWAT team moves silently into position around us.

The records Elliot found, in addition to the evidence from the lab and the sketch, were all we needed to get a warrant. Branch saw to it himself. I wonder if he's feeling somehow responsible for this whole thing. I think he was just as shocked as we were when the evidence was presented to him. Madeline fooled everyone.

Looking back, I try and rack my brain for any signs that she may have given to her true nature, but I can think of none. The inability to come up with any serves to compound the disgust I feel with myself even further.

Elliot's arm brushes mine as he leans against the wall beside me. A look passes between us, each of us silently willing the other to be careful, before he moves to the other side of the door. I glance at my wrist watch, it's just after nine in the morning.

I strain my ears, listening for any indication that someone may be inside, but hear nothing. This is an old building with thick walls.

Suddenly a yell comes from the apartment, that unmistakably sounds like Casey. I can't make out what she's saying, but she sounds upset. It takes every bit of control I possess not to break down the door and rush in like an idiot, gun blazing.

Elliot hears it as well and motions for the Tactical Unit to split up and position themselves, two on either side of the door. We look at each other briefly, timing our entrance.

A split second later, a muffled pop from inside the apartment rings out, and I immediately recognize the sound for what it is . . . a gunshot.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 17**

"If I unlock the cuffs long enough for you to put these on, are you going to be a good girl Casey," Madeline asks, holding up the offered clothing.

I nod my head weakly, willing to comply, just to get some clothing.

"Good." She walks up to the bed and leans down to unlock the handcuffs that have kept my hands shackled above my head for over a day now.

My arms cramp violently as I pull them close to my body. Automatically I move to rub my wrists and a whimper of pain escapes my lips at the contact. Both are raw and oozing blood. In my struggles against the constraints, I had not noticed the pain. Now, looking at the damage, they throb painfully.

She throws the clothes to me and for the first time I notice that she has a gun pointed steadily at my head. I have no doubt that she'll pull the trigger, given the slightest motivation. Her face is a cold, emotionless mask. Numbly I pull the tee shirt she's given me over my head, supremely thankful for the covering it offers. I next pull the shorts on slowly, attempting to prolong my faux freedom for as long as possible. I have no desire to hurry back into the uncomfortable position I've been in for so long.

The morning sun streams through the high industrial windows in the loft and I mentally calculate how long I've been here. I'm fairly certain that it's Thursday morning, but I can't be sure.

"What time is it," I ask, noting the monotonous, empty tone of my voice.

"A little after eight, Thursday morning."

I nearly laugh out loud at the thought that immediately pops into my head. It's ridiculous really for me to be wondering why she's not at work. Old habits die hard I suppose.

She still has not given me any real insight into why she's chosen me to torment. What could she see in me? I'm nothing special. Pretty, but not a model; smart, but I won't be giving Einstein a run for his money anytime soon. I just really don't understand _why_ and that's what's killing me. It's hard to rationalize senseless cruelty and if I can't rationalize something then I can't move past it.

"Why me Madeline," I ask quietly, managing to make her name sound like a curse word.

"Because I wanted you." The sincerity in her voice is perhaps the most unsettling part of that statement.

"But why do this? Why not just, oh I don't know, ask me out for dinner like a normal person?" My sarcasm is back in full swing and it makes me feel a little more human.

The slight waver in the gun is the only indication that my words have even affected her. I know I'm walking a fine line, but I don't care at this point. I will not let her touch me again. I'll die first.

"I don't have to justify my actions to you or anyone else Casey."

I hate the way my name sounds coming from her mouth. Somehow it makes me feel even dirtier than I already do.

"Why frame Stephen," I press on, constantly watching her for any opportunity to attack.

"I needed to get rid of the pack of babysitters you had and well . . . it was just fun."

Her face splits into a sickening smile.

Hatred flares and I wrap it around me like a cloak. It overwhelms the fear and revulsion I feel and I welcome it with open arms. If I can concentrate on it, then I won't have to deal with the other emotions floating around in my mind.

"You can't keep me here forever. Eventually someone," namely a certain detective, "will get suspicious and figure it out."

"Oh honey, I have no intention of keeping you here forever. In fact, I really have no intention of keeping you here very much longer at all," she threatens.

Fear makes an overwhelming comeback with her statement and I realize that I truly am on shakier ground than I thought. I back away from her slowly, desperate for any avenue of escape.

"Stop where you are or I'll shoot you now," she says, deadly serious.

Her words cause me to stop in my tracks.

"Get back on the bed," she motions towards the bare mattress with her gun.

I panic at the thought of being so helpless again and stand still, silently shaking my head. The click of the hammer as it's pulled back is loud in the otherwise silent apartment.

"Don't make me kill you, I really wasn't finished with you quite yet. I thought we could have a little more . . . fun . . . before hand."

Nausea rolls over me and I tremble at the thought of her touching me.

"I will not let you touch me again," I say loudly.

"You don't really have a choice."

She walks closer, smirking arrogantly and something inside me finally breaks. I crouch down and run at her, slamming my shoulder into her stomach and taking her down in a football tackle that the NFL would've been proud of. The gun flies from her grasp and clatters to the ground a few feet away. I pull my arm back and punch her with all the strength I possess, shattering her nose with my efforts. Grunting in pain, she whips her arm out and catches me with a punch that momentarily stuns me.

We both scramble for the gun at nearly the same time, each of us getting a hand on it. She uses her other hand to grab my raw wrist and squeeze and I let out an involuntary scream of pain. Using my pain as a distraction, she wrestles the gun closer to her body and tries to turn me over onto my back. I struggle against her, keeping my grip on the gun, fully aware that my life depends on it.

The sound of the gunshot makes both of us stop abruptly and stare at each other, wide-eyed and unsure of what happened. Blood, dark and viscous, begins to spread across Madeline's chest and she falls off of me onto her side. She continues to stare at me in shock and I scramble backwards from the injured woman, clutching the gun to my chest.

A loud crash echoes throughout the room as the door explodes inward and people pour through it, yelling. I stare solemnly at the dying woman mere feet away from me, not quite registering the commotion in the apartment.

The gun is pulled from my grasp and I find myself encircled in familiar arms.

"Olivia . . ."

"Shhh, it's okay sweetie. I've got you," she says and I swear it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard in my life.

We sit there entwined in each other's arms, completely unaware of our surroundings. Nothing exists to either of us, except this one moment in time. The one moment that I found myself back in Olivia's arms, somewhere I was not sure that I'd ever be again. If I could live in this moment, I would. Unfortunately, I know I can't and there are things that will have to be dealt with. But that's for later, right now all that matters is that its over . . .

**Finis**

**Author's Note:** For anyone that is interested, there is a sequel to this called "Barren". I will work on getting that story reposted as well. Thanks again to all the ones that actually liked this story enough to miss it when it was gone. :)


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